


Sword of Slytherin

by Furare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Founders Era, Humor, Mistaken Identity, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furare/pseuds/Furare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after CS17.  Harry pulls a very different sword out of the Sorting Hat, and that changes everything. The Sword of Slytherin has powers that go far beyond just killing legendary monsters, and soon Harry finds himself caught up in an improbable adventure and a bizarre case of mistaken identity. It just goes to show that strange things can happen when time meddles with wizards...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heroes Prefer Swords

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly story about a magical time-travelling sword. I would advise against taking it particularly seriously, mostly because I won't be. The main focus of the story, at least at the beginning, is trying to survive in a hostile world where the only person you can rely on is someone you really don't like. It's something of a sitcom setup, and like a sitcom it's pretty dialogue-heavy in parts. I'm not sure that it's ever really laugh-out-loud funny, but I hope it will make people smile.
> 
> The first paragraph is taken verbatim from Chapter 17 of my copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. (UK Paperback.)
> 
> There is some minor swearing in this story. I don't think it really warrants a T rating, though.

_Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he'd just travelled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the Basilisk's mouth._

Something, he wasn't sure what, prompted him to take a closer look at it. There was an emerald the size of an egg embedded in the pommel of the sword, with several smaller stones decorating the rest of the hilt. Harry stared, a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew whose sword this must once have been. _Green and silver_. But he still wasn't prepared for the chill that passed through him as he turned the blade over and read the name engraved there. _Salazar Slytherin._ Who else?

"Oh." His voice came out sounding weak. He didn't feel like a hero who had just slain a monster. He felt like a scared little boy who was going to be in a lot of trouble as soon as someone found out what he'd done. "Well, shit."

* * *

Two days after killing the Basilisk, Harry sat alone on the shore of the lake, trying to pretend he didn't mind that nobody wanted to come near him. It wasn't just that they'd heard that he'd somehow managed to pull Slytherin's sword out of the Sorting Hat; the sword lay next to him on the grass, shining in the afternoon sun. Who wanted to sit and talk to a boy who brought his tenth century Muggle weaponry everywhere with him? People – a lot of people, not just his enemies, but people he'd actually rather liked, too – were saying that he was disturbed and maybe dangerous. There was a rumour that there had never even _been_ a Basilisk, that he'd made the whole thing up. _Idiots_.

Even Ron and Hermione – who had been freed from Petrification not long after Harry had returned from the Chamber – were keeping their distance. In their case, though, it was understandable; Hermione had read a Muggle book on psychology and insisted that Harry, after his terrifying ordeal, would need time and space to himself to _heal_ and find _closure._ Ron had explained this to him that morning at breakfast, between mouthfuls of egg and bacon. It made no sense at all, except to people like Hermione, who had extra logic where her emotions should be. Harry had so far managed to refrain from telling her to shove the book somewhere rude, which he thought very noble of himself.

At least he didn't have to worry about _them_ suddenly deciding that he must be evil because of the sword, which was something – though he would much rather have had their company. It was wretched to be alone, to have no one to share the lazy summer day with. The filthy looks he was getting from more or less everyone who passed him didn't help either. He was in a foul mood; lonely and humiliated by the way no one wanted anything to do with him at all. The sword reflected sunlight into his eyes as he scowled at it. It was terrible company.

"Move over, Potter."

Harry immediately decided that the sword was wonderful company – all the company he wanted, in fact. "What? Why?" He stared up at Draco Malfoy, who for once seemed not to be sneering, and wondered if he might be hallucinating.

"So I can sit down," Malfoy said, patiently. Harry wasn't sure which of them was supposed to be mad. Had Malfoy somehow _forgotten_ that they didn't like each other?

"Why would I want you to do that?"

Malfoy waved his hand around at the empty space surrounding them. "I don't see anybody else volunteering to sit and talk to you, Potter – do you?"

"I'm on a date with the giant squid," Harry said, irritably. He sighed. "Sod off, Malfoy."

Naturally, being as annoying as it was humanly possible to be, Malfoy didn't. He sat down on the grass next to Harry and poked curiously at the sword. "I can't believe Dumbledore let you _keep_ this," he said, sounding very impressed. It surprised Harry; he'd thought that the other boy was bored by absolutely everything that wasn't directly connected to his own life.

"He didn't." Harry wanted Malfoy to go away, he really did, but he hadn't had a real conversation in over _two days_ , and now that someone was actually trying to talk to him, it was difficult not to respond. He made an incoherent growling noise in his throat, but decided to give a proper answer. "He made me give it to him and then put it in a case in his office. But then, the next morning, I found it under my bed. It – the sword, it _follows_ me."

"Oh." Malfoy sounded puzzled. "I didn't know swords could do that."

Harry decided that, until Hermione stopped believing everything she read in that damned book, he could pretend that Malfoy was his friend. It was that or start talking to himself – and enough people seemed to think that he was mad already. "I don't think they can," he said, slowly, reaching out and moving the sword away before Malfoy could cut himself on it. "It's confusing Dumbledore. I didn't think that was possible. He called me to his office again to ask me how I did it, but I didn't do anything. It's the sword."

"The old fool doesn't know everything." Malfoy peered at the emeralds in the sword's silver handle. "This must be worth a lot," he said. "You could sell it to people, and then it would come back to you, and you could sell it to somebody else."

"And then get cursed by a lot of very angry wizards," Harry pointed out – but he still laughed. "Don't you have enough money, anyway?"

"More money than you could ever dream of," Malfoy said, haughtily. "I was thinking of _you_." He shrugged. "I'm not sure why everyone's being so stupid about this. It's just a sword."

Harry stopped laughing. He felt cold inside. "It's a sword that magically follows me wherever I go, and was made for Salazar Slytherin, a famous Dark wizard. I understand why people are afraid of it – and of me." He stared intently at the lake, not wanting to meet Malfoy's eyes, even by accident. "I saw how Dumbledore looked at me, when I came back from the Chamber of Secrets, holding this. It was like – like he thought I was the second coming of Voldemort, or something."

Malfoy flinched at the name, but said only, "That's about as ridiculous as the idea of you being the Heir of Slytherin."

"Hey, I pulled the sword out of the Sorting Hat." Thinking about that made him feel miserable again. "Maybe I should have been in Slytherin. The Hat said – twice – that I would've done well there."

"Don't look so happy about it, Potter," Malfoy said, rolling over onto his back and looking up at the sky. "Slytherin isn't a death sentence, you know."

"I'm not so sure. I'd have to spend more time with you." Harry turned and glared at Malfoy. "Look, why are you even here? You don't even _like_ me – and I don't like you, either. I don't get why I have Slytherin's sword; you should have it, you're just like he was, obsessed with killing Muggle-borns! You said – you said you hoped Hermione would _die_ , you horrid little..." He snarled wordlessly; he couldn't think of an insult bad enough. It wasn't just anger at Malfoy for his stupid comments; all of the anger of the past couple of days, all the frustration he'd felt all _year_ about the accusations and the rumours and the whispering behind his back all came bubbling out at once.

"I never said that." Malfoy frowned at him suspiciously, and Harry suddenly remembered that he'd been disguised as Goyle at the time. He'd given himself away, but he really didn't care. What did it matter now?

"You did." Harry sat up straighter and looked directly at the other boy. "You didn't know you were talking to me. Ron and I thought you might be the Heir of Slytherin, so we used a potion to look like Crabbe and Goyle, and get you to tell us what you knew." He shook his head. "That was a waste of time."

Malfoy looked as if he wanted to be outraged, but settled for laughing instead. "And you claim not to be a Slytherin," he said. "Underhanded spying tactics – my father would be proud." Harry found this reaction extremely annoying, which was probably why Malfoy had done it. "And I'm here because you're finally _interesting_ , Potter. There's something more to you than I'd thought." Malfoy's eyes were once again drawn to the sword. Harry moved it a little further away from the Slytherin, though he knew Malfoy would not be able to steal it from him, not for long. "The sword of Slytherin... taken by a Gryffindor. I wanted to find out why – and I think I do know, now."

Harry was torn between figuring out what Malfoy was really up to, and finding some way to _make_ the Slytherin go away. Perhaps he was planning some revenge for his father's disgrace? Or was there something even more sinister behind it? "What do you think you know?" he asked in a tight voice, wondering why he was encouraging Malfoy at all.

"You must be Slytherin enough for the sword. That's the only thing I can think of." He put a hand out towards the hilt. "Can I touch it? Just for a moment. I already know I can't take it from you, so I won't even try. I just want to touch it."

"No." Harry didn't even _want_ the sword – he wished it would stay quietly in the display case and stop bothering him – but he didn't want to let Malfoy have it. That was why he'd come over, it had to be. And if Malfoy wanted to get his hands on the sword, that was all the reason Harry needed not to let him. "I told you already to go away." The grey eyes narrowed, and then everything happened very fast. Harry moved just too late to stop Malfoy from seizing the sword handle, and instead of grabbing the jewelled cross hilt he got a handful of sharp steel blade. The edge cut deep into his palm and his blood flowed down over the name engraved there.

And then the sword began to glow, gently at first, but getting brighter and brighter, until the light was all he could see. He thought he heard Malfoy curse, then yelp about not being able to let go – and when Harry tried, he couldn't take his hand off the blade either. Whatever was happening was like nothing he'd ever experienced before – but unlike Malfoy, he wasn't afraid. That was part of being Harry Potter, it seemed. Impossible things just kept happening to him.

When he could finally stand to open his eyes and look around, he realised that it wasn't over. Somehow – incredibly – the castle of Hogwarts had vanished entirely.

* * *

"Where the hell are we?"

"How would I know?"

"Can we get back to Hogwarts from here?"

"Again, how would I know?"

"It's _your_ sword!"

"That doesn't mean I understand how it works! I should have a severed palm or something, but it's all healed up and there's just this really old looking white scar. This isn't normal, even for magic."

"Yeah, well, you're not normal, are you, Harry bloody special Potter?"

"Do you actually _have_ any decent insults?"

"Of course I do! I just don't waste them on _you_." A pause. "Damn it, we're in the middle of nowhere!"

"Thanks, Malfoy, I'd figured that one out on my own."

"You're taking this really... calmly."

"Well... this is either a really weird dream, or the Basilisk bit through my arm and I'm hallucinating while bleeding to death in the Chamber. So, you know, this probably isn't even real."

"If you're dreaming, how am I here?"

"I don't know, apparently my subconscious hates me."

"But I'm really here!"

"You would say that, but you haven't proved that you're not a hallucination. Or a figment of my imagination."

A growl. "Potter, there _is_ no way to prove to you that I'm real."

"Yeah. I know."

"You're a bastard."

"This is all your fault." A few moments pass. "If this _is_ real, maybe I have ataraxia."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's where you don't care about anything and nothing upsets you."

"That's called being a Slytherin."

"Well, if that's so, you're shit at being a Slytherin."

"You're not exactly the world's greatest Gryffindor right now either. What's written on that sword you're carrying again?"

"Shut up."

"No, that wasn't it." A sigh. "This is stupid. My legs are tired."

"Stop being a whiny git, Malfoy. You're not the one who fought a Basilisk and saved a girl, but then had everyone think he was crazy or evil anyway. You didn't get stalked around school by a _sword_. Then I had to get dumped in the middle of bloody nowhere with an idiot who can't walk half a mile without complaining about how _hard_ it is and how much everything hurts!"

"Harry?"

" _What._ "

"I don't think you have ataraxia."

"Shut up."

"Who put you in charge?"

A sharp, unpleasant laugh. "I'm the one with the sword."

"Good point."

* * *

They'd been walking for a while – Malfoy insisted it had been at least six hours, but Harry thought it was probably more like two. The forest around them was dense and unfamiliar; even if Hogwarts was anywhere near, neither of them knew how to get there. Malfoy had cast a spell that showed them which way North was, but since they didn't know which direction they wanted to go, it hadn't been that useful. Still, at least it kept Malfoy from complaining, which was apparently his favourite hobby. Harry had always imagined the other boy to be more of a torturing baby animals sort, but that just went to show what he knew.

"Are we still in Scotland, do you think?" Harry had tried not speaking to Malfoy at all, but it was difficult. It was dark on the forest floor, and the shadows moved in disturbing ways – and besides, when he wasn't talking, he had too much time to think about what was going on. He didn't understand what had happened or what it meant, any more than he knew where they were, and that frightened him. He'd discovered that if he kept conversation to simple things like what tree that was, or which direction they should walk in next, he could talk to Malfoy without wanting to kill him. Much.

Malfoy kicked a pine cone. "Probably. I just wish I had a clue where. Or where the nearest town is."

"Fancy walking into a Muggle town dressed like this?" Harry gestured at his flowing black robes. To his dismay, he'd found on first arriving here – wherever they were – that the school crest had completely vanished from their robes. It seemed almost more uncanny than the wound on his hand having healed itself. He shivered. It had to be a dream. What other explanation could there be?

"More than I fancy walking around lost in this forest for longer than I have to," Malfoy said, glowering at the trees as if they'd offended him personally.

It was a good point, even if it was accompanied by more Malfoy whining. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then – he felt it – the sword seemed to hum gently under his hand. He stopped walking suddenly, and completely lost the words he'd been going to say. And then he heard it. Footsteps, voices, the scraping of metal. Someone was coming this way. A lot of someones. By the sound of it, some of them were armed. Harry wasn't taking any chances; he drew the sword from his belt and dropped into what he somehow knew was an effective defensive stance.

"What are you–?" Malfoy began, but Harry made a sharp gesture with the sword blade, and he shut up. More quietly, he said, "Okay, I hear them. But why the sword? I mean, they might not be a danger to us – and if they are, you're a wizard. You've got a wand."

Harry shrugged. "How many duelling spells do you know?"

Malfoy paused, thinking. "Eight. Well, nine if you're not too fussy about them being _legal_."

"I know one," Harry said, deliberately ignoring the prospect of illegal curses. If Malfoy chose to be an idiot and cast things like that, he would be the one to pay for it. The fact that this attitude was probably more Slytherin than Gryffindor was likewise ignored. "So, yeah, that's why _you_ can use a wand in a fight, and I'm just going to make do with the sharp metal blade that I used to kill a Basilisk." Something else occurred to him. "Oh, I suppose two spells, if you count the one that conjures the big black snake thing from nowhere."

"Yeah, definitely count that one." Malfoy had his wand out and was trying to look in every direction at once, nervously. "You're a Parselmouth. Summoning a snake that you can control would be a really good idea, I think."

"Right." Harry swallowed heavily, then drew his wand. " _Serpensortia_ ," he whispered, and watched as a snake appeared from nowhere and pooled on the floor in front of him. It looked up at him, as though waiting for something. He focused on the snake's eyes, and words in another language rose to his lips. " _Be ready to defend us. I will give the word."_ After a brief pause, the snake simply nodded by way of reply and slithered into a hunting coil, ready to spring on Harry's word. Maybe Malfoy wasn't as stupid as he looked.

Malfoy stared at him, evidently fascinated by the use of Parseltongue. Harry felt a little uncomfortable about the gift; it didn't bring him anything good, only suspicion from _normal_ people, and more interest than he really wanted from _Malfoy_. But he didn't really have time to worry about it, because the noises they'd heard were close now, almost upon them. He tightened his grip on the sword. Any minute now, he'd find out who or what was coming for them.


	2. Land of Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to say upfront that I have no intention of explaining how the Sword does what it does. It works on plot magic, the same thing that let a wardrobe take the Pevensies to Narnia. Oh, and I know that if modern day English kids went back in time over a thousand years they wouldn't have a clue what anyone was saying, but that wouldn't be much fun, would it?

Within a few minutes, the source of the noise was upon them, and proved to be around a dozen men, all wielding... spears? Harry blinked several times, rapidly, unable to believe his eyes. Who used _spears_ in a fight? Who used spears for _anything_ anymore? Not that he was complaining, mind you – he wasn't sure what he would have been able to do had they been armed with guns – but it was strange. Very strange. Although... not quite as strange as a sword that transported you to the middle of a forest, or a bloody cut that healed itself into a years old scar. Possibly not even as strange as a girls' bathroom containing the entrance to a Basilisk's lair – and he knew _that_ had happened. So maybe this was really happening? He would have tried to pinch himself, but his hands were full of sword.

"Did we run into a re-enactment society or something?" Harry asked, in a whisper, but Malfoy just stared at him blankly. Maybe wizards didn't do that sort of thing; he had a feeling that the other boy was entirely clueless about the habits of Muggles. "Never mind. Who carries a spear anymore, though?"

"I don't know; who walks around a forest carrying a _sword?"_ Malfoy shot back, eyeing the spearmen with an expression somewhere between disdain and pure pants-wetting terror.

"Oh, so you think that _their_ medieval weaponry transported _them_ here through some totally unexplainable magic thing, too?" Harry snapped. He was almost as nervous as Malfoy, but he hoped he didn't look it.

"You're trembling, Potter." Well, so much for that.

"Like _you_ can talk? You look like you're going to need a change of underpants." He glared at Malfoy, who looked away hurriedly – then he straightened up and tried to keep himself from shaking too much. The men with spears had surrounded the two boys, and their leader stepped forward to confront them. To Harry's surprise, she was – well, a _she_ , for a start. She was also clearly a witch; she held a wand in one hand and a wicked-looking long knife in the other. Her eyes were narrowed and calculating, and she looked as if she knew how to use both weapons in ways that neither Harry nor Malfoy were likely to enjoy. Well, he knew _he_ wouldn't, at least. He didn't know for sure about Malfoy.

"How came you here?" she demanded – which was an odd way to put it, but Harry wasn't really inclined to criticise the grammar of an armed and dangerous looking witch.

He knew he had to answer her quickly – the spears and the knife made that quite clear – but he also didn't really want to explain what had happened with the sword. For one thing, he didn't even _know_ what had happened. And no one would believe him anyway. He wasn't sure _he_ believed it, even. And he'd been there when it had happened. Whatever _it_ was. "We walked," he said, simply, deciding to take the question very literally.

Next to him, Malfoy snorted, but apparently he couldn't resist the opportunity to complain. "Yeah, we've been walking for hours. All day, really." Harry knew this wasn't even remotely true; it had been after lunch when they'd been sitting by the lake together.

"You have come far, then." The woman – though now Harry looked, he realised that she wasn't much older than they were – didn't look any less suspicious. "To what purpose?"

Harry didn't really understand what was going on – and he was starting to think that it might have been better if he hadn't got out of bed at all that morning – but he knew the girl wanted to know why they were there. And if she didn't like what she heard... well, it was better not to think about that. "We were trying to get to–" He paused and looked at the men with the spears. Were they Muggles? She carried her wand openly, but did they understand what it was? "To our school," he finished, deciding not to mention Hogwarts for the time being, just to be on the safe side.

This had a dramatic effect. "Oh!" The girl lowered her wand and put her knife away. "My apologies. You must be Slytherin and Gryffindor." Harry nodded cautiously. He didn't see how she could know such a thing just by looking at them, but it was at least clear that she knew about Hogwarts, and was comfortable talking about it in front of her – bodyguards? He still didn't have a clue what the spearmen were doing there. "You are late on your road," the girl said now – which would have confused Harry had she not chosen that moment to smile. She was actually rather pretty when she wasn't trying to murder him with her eyes. "I hadn't thought to find you, not _alive_ , not after – well, but I did still have some hope. And now here you are!"

She seemed to be waiting for a response, so Harry tried to pull his thoughts together and find something sensible to say. This was harder than it might otherwise have been, given that what had happened to him – what was _still_ happening to him – was so very far from sensible. "You were expecting us?" he asked, eventually. It was the only possible interpretation of her words, but he didn't understand how or why.

"Why, yes, of course." For a moment she frowned, but then understanding dawned and her eyes lit up once again. "Oh, how stupid of me. I never introduced myself. You don't know who I am." She made an oddly formal-looking bow, and announced, "Rowena Glensbane, of Raven's Claw, my lord. You would know me as Ravenclaw, though – as you are... Slytherin, I assume?"

Harry didn't reply. He knew he was being rude. He knew he shouldn't stare. That he ought to say something. But he genuinely couldn't. What was he supposed to say or do, faced with an armed woman who claimed to be Rowena Ravenclaw, and to think that _he_ of all people was Salazar Slytherin? Luckily, he must have looked just surprised rather than stunned into silence, because she – _Ravenclaw_ – laughed lightly and said, "Am I not what you were expecting, then?"

Harry managed to force out words. "Uh, no, not exactly." If she only knew how true that was!

"No more are you," she returned, evenly. "You – well, I had thought you to be older, both of you."

Despite the ridiculous circumstances, the almost insult drew a very natural reaction from Harry. "I'm thirteen," he said, defensively. It was stretching the truth just a little, but there was no way she could know that.

"Hm. You are almost a man, then, yet still young for the reputation you have," she said, looking him over. "Or perhaps – is it really true that you slew a dragon?"

"No, I've never killed a dragon," Harry said, quite truthfully. Aside from Norbert, he'd never even _seen_ a dragon. "But I did kill a Basilisk, with my sword." He decided that it would probably be best to leave out the minor details of nearly dying and being saved by a phoenix.

Ravenclaw put her wand away, stepped closer to him and laid a hand on the sword, lifting it a little so that she could examine it. "Impressive," she said, idly tracing the engraved name with her finger. Harry wondered if he should warn her not to cut herself – but decided against it on the grounds that, if he did, she might decide to cut him, instead. She was almost certainly more at home with weapons than he was. "Goblin-made, I would say. That's so, isn't it?"

Harry thought back to what Dumbledore had told him about the sword, the day he had taken it from the Sorting Hat. It seemed like a very long time ago, but it had only been two days. "Yes, it's a goblin-made sword. And yes, those are real emeralds." The sword was pretty near priceless – which was only part of the reason why Dumbledore had originally taken it from him. Mostly it was because responsible headmasters did not allow twelve year old boys to walk around with swords, though Harry had got the feeling that it was actually the sword walking around with _him_.

"Very fine." Ravenclaw appeared to be talking to herself. Her grip on the sword seemed to have tightened a little, and Harry realised what she was going to do an instant before she did it. She suddenly tugged on the cross hilt hard, trying to jerk the sword out of his hand – and he let go entirely. That was something she hadn't been expecting; without any resistance, she overbalanced and staggered backwards, nearly falling. It was a perfect opportunity.

_"Now! The girl! Trip her!"_ A look of pure surprise flashed across Ravenclaw's face as she heard the Parseltongue commands – and then the black snake struck, wrapping itself around her legs tightly, completing the job of knocking her down. She fell flat on her back, and the sword dropped from her hands. Moving quickly, Harry picked it up, and before he had a chance to think about it, put the point of it against her throat.

Her reaction was completely unexpected. She started to laugh. "Very clever," she said. "I can see your reputation is deserved, despite your age." Apparently it had been some sort of test? Harry shook his head. Feeling it would be rude to leave her on the ground for too long, even if she _had_ attacked him, he took the sword away from her throat and slid it back into the scabbard on his belt. Ravenclaw smiled and drew her wand, banishing the snake that had bound her – then got to her feet and dusted herself down, still apparently amused by Harry's smart method of defeating her. Then she turned an eye towards Malfoy, who had not said anything for some time, and asked, "So, is he lack-witted in some way, this one?"

This caused an explosion of indignation from Malfoy. "You... am _I_ lack-witted?  You foul banshee woman, how _dare_ you call me–"

Harry had been thinking. If he accepted the situation for now – impossible though it undoubtedly was – then if the girl thought _he_ was Slytherin, she must think that Malfoy was... "Godric." The single word shut Malfoy up faster than a Tongue-Twisting Hex. "Thank you." He wished he'd known earlier that it was so easy to turn off the annoying voice. Turning back to Ravenclaw, he said, "No, he's not got anything wrong with his wits. Or his voice. I don't know why he's being so quiet. Usually it's shutting him up that's the problem."

Malfoy seemed to have gone into some sort of shock. Eventually, in a very shaky voice, he said, "Okay, which of you wants to explain to me exactly what the hell is going on?"

"This is Rowena Ravenclaw." Harry wasn't sure he believed in any of this. He didn't know if any of it was real. But playing along with the improbable was _definitely_ going to wind Malfoy up – which was all it took to make that course of action well worth it, for now. "You must remember all about Ravenclaw, surely, my dear Godric."

One of Malfoy's eyes was twitching. "Stop calling me that!"

"Or what?" Harry grinned. This was really too easy. "You know how _dear_ you are to me." He knew that wasn't the part that Malfoy objected to, of course – but if Ravenclaw found out what he really meant, there was no way of knowing what would happen. She seemed to be a dangerous witch, and if they were truly over a thousand years in the past, there probably weren't nearly so many laws about what she could and couldn't do to them. And no one knew that they were here.

She was watching this exchange with puzzled eyes, and after a moment asked, "You two – you are not –" She seemed to be having trouble figuring out exactly how to say something. "Ah! Are you... friends after the fashion of Serge and Bacchus?"

Harry didn't understand the words – clearly it was a reference to something Hermione had never found in a history book – but the tone and her awkwardness gave him a good idea as to her meaning. He absent-mindedly closed his fingers around the sword hilt, and felt a faint hum of... agreement? Amusement? How on earth could a _sword_ be _amused?_ He shook his head, laughing a little, but he didn't feel offended particularly. "No, we're not. More like brothers, really." Or what he imagined brothers to be like, anyway. Was there much difference between his tormenting Malfoy now, and the way the Weasley twins always taunted Ron and Percy?

Malfoy shot him a filthy look, but Harry felt no remorse. Hadn't the other boy _wanted_ to force friendship on him only a few hours ago? And now here Harry was claiming him as a brother! Clearly there was no pleasing Malfoy. He wondered briefly what the reaction would've been if he'd told Ravenclaw that yes, Malfoy was his boyfriend. The thought was too outlandish to bother him, but Malfoy would probably have exploded. It would have been funny, but probably not worth it, not in the long run.

"You do not seem very friendly with each other," Ravenclaw remarked, looking between the two boys in a confused fashion. Harry sighed; _of course_ she would be perceptive enough to notice – or else Malfoy was broadcasting his loathing for Harry over every available frequency.

"He's just angry with me because he thinks it's my fault we got lost in the woods," Harry said, which was true enough – although really, the fault lay with Malfoy, not him.

"It _is_ your fault!" At least he'd goaded Malfoy into a more natural conversation. Well, really it was an argument, but he couldn't expect miracles. "You and your bloody sword dragged me into all of this in the first place! And now I'm tired and hungry and I just want to go _home_ \- but no, now you want to stand here in the middle of nowhere with this girl and insult me!"

Harry opened his mouth to make a smart reply – but then he really looked at Malfoy, and realised that the other boy was very close to breaking down. He swallowed what he'd been about to say, instead going with: "Perhaps Ravenclaw can take us to her home. At least then you would be able to rest and eat something." It was strange – possibly the strangest of all the strange things that had happened to him – but he realised that he was feeling _compassion_ for _Malfoy_ of all people. He turned to Ravenclaw. "I'm sorry; I promise he'll be far more charming and witty once he's had a chance to rest. Well, maybe not so witty."

She smiled, and her eyes softened. Evidently his show of concern for Malfoy had got rid of any suspicion that they might not be what they seemed. "But of course," she said. "We are not far from Raven's Claw now, and it will gladden my father's heart to know you have not been made a feast for the wild animals." She gestured to the spearmen. "He may be displeased that we have not brought in a boar for the table, but he has been as worried as I over your delayed arrival."

"There are wild boars in these forests?" Harry looked around, worriedly. He was glad that they hadn't known _that_ earlier. Although... surely if he could kill a Basilisk, he could have killed a pig, if he'd needed to.

"Indeed," Ravenclaw said, cheerfully. "And wolves, too." Malfoy made a small, rather terrified noise, and she looked at him with some surprise. "Why, and I thought you were reputed to be _brave_ – or is that the lie? For surely Slytherin is the cunning swordsman of the tales."

Harry remembered detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. "He talks a good fight."

"Ah." Ravenclaw's eyes danced. "A _miles gloriosus_ , then."

"I resent that remark." Malfoy scowled at them both, but he looked a little less likely to collapse than he had a few moments before. Clearly he understood the words – the insult – even though Harry didn't. Not that he was going to stop something like a lack of understanding stop him from having just a little fun at Malfoy's expense.

"Are you sure you don't _resemble_ it?" Harry asked, mischievously, ignoring the glare he got in return. He turned towards Ravenclaw and said, "Let's head to Raven's Claw, before he takes too much offence, stomps off into the forest, and gets eaten by a wolf."

"Very well." She turned and began walking off into the forest, trailed by the spearmen – Harry realised now that they were her hunting party – and the two boys exchanged a look and scurried after her. Harry came up alongside her and offered her his arm, vaguely remembering from somewhere that this was a polite gesture, and very much wanting to get there before Malfoy could do anything similar. "Very courtly of you, Slytherin," she said, looping her arm around his so that they were walking together along the path. "My father will be pleased. He is always telling me that I should behave in a more womanly fashion."

"You're a witch," Harry said – though he didn't know how things had worked this long ago, the fact that two witches had helped found a school suggested that it wasn't quite the same as the Muggle world. "You can do what you like."

Ravenclaw laughed. "It's most enlightened of you to say so. Perhaps you can convince my father. He still worries about our school plan; he thinks I ought not to be without his protection with two young men unless I am betrothed to one of you."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what 'betrothed' meant; perhaps he could ask Malfoy later. Still, he could tell Ravenclaw didn't find the idea particularly thrilling. "If you don't want to, then he shouldn't force you."

She looked surprised, and then smiled broadly. "I'm sure I can think of worse things," she said, and squeezed his arm gently. Harry wondered exactly what he was missing, but it couldn't be anything _bad_ , not given the look on her face. "But for now, let us get back to the village. There will be time for these discussions later, once you are fed and rested."

They continued through the forest for another half an hour, their journey punctuated by Malfoy muttering angrily to himself about things that Harry couldn't hear and didn't really care about. Eventually they came out of the trees and walked across open country, so Harry assumed they must be getting near to the village. And then he saw it; a tall, wooden wall ahead of them, with what looked like wooden cabins inside. They were surrounded by some sort of farmland – marked out fields of crops, grazing sheep, pens full of pigs, wooden barns and sheds. Harry was so busy looking around that he forgot to look where he was going, and nearly tripped over a chicken. Malfoy was rude enough to laugh, but Harry ignored him.

Ravenclaw led them through the walls and into the village, and Harry saw that the cabins were small single-storey cottages, made out of wood with thatched roofs. If he'd still thought that this was a joke, then this sight would have shown him the truth. People didn't live like this anymore. This could be reality or it could be a dream, but it wasn't a joke and it wasn't a trick. There was a strong smell of roasting pork, and the air was full of wood smoke. It wasn't unpleasant, but it definitely wasn't 1993.

"There has been a village on this site for a good many years," Ravenclaw said, seeing that he was curious. "I do not know exactly how many, but perhaps three or four hundred years. Obviously we have repaired and rebuilt the houses many times, and added some new features – the walls, of course, and the hall." She gestured towards a stone building near the middle of the village. "My father's house, and the town's meeting-place, all in one." She turned away from it, saying, "I will inform him that you have arrived, but first I thought you might care to rest a while, after your journey."

"Finally!" Malfoy looked as though he might curl up right there on the floor and go to sleep.

Although Harry was not in quite such bad shape, the idea of a rest was _definitely_ welcome. "That'd be great," he said, warmly. " _He_ might even start to act human again after a while, who knows." When he saw Malfoy's grimace at this comment, he wished that he wasn't too tired to laugh properly. He settled for smirking instead.

Ravenclaw laughed, though, and led them towards a small house near the wall. She threw open the door and waved them inside. "I must go to my father, but please, make yourselves comfortable." And with that, she was gone.

Harry took the opportunity to look around the inside of the hut. There was an open square box in the middle full of old ashes, likely some sort of fireplace. A spinning-wheel stood in one corner of the room, and on the other side a tattered cloth curtain cut part of the house off from the rest. He closed the door – it got very dark when he did that, which seemed to unnerve Malfoy – and went over to the curtain. Behind it were two more open boxes, though these were long rectangles rather than squares, wide and long enough for a man, filled with what seemed to be wool.

"Beds," he said, looking back at Malfoy, who was staring up at the vent in the ceiling. The other boy gave a short nod and came over, sitting in one of the wool boxes with a great show of disgust.

"Okay," Malfoy said, and Harry could tell that he was struggling to control himself. "Now do you mind telling me what the _hell_ you think you're doing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:  
> Serge and Bacchus were saints in the early Christian Church who were claimed by some sources to have been lovers. Ravenclaw uses it as a euphemism to ask if Harry and Malfoy are together. Which they aren't, and won't be, because this is not that kind of story. And if you're surprised that Rowena Ravenclaw uses obscure historical references…
> 
> _Miles gloriosus_ is a Latin phrase that basically means the same as what Harry said in English – that Malfoy talks a good fight. (Basically, a dirty coward who brags about how brave and skilful he is – as long as he's a long way away from any actual danger.) Look it up on TV Tropes, if you have an afternoon to waste.


	3. Just Crazy Enough To Work

Harry didn't answer him immediately. Instead, he went over to the fire pit and poked at the ashes with his wand, before shaking his head and taking a couple of cut logs from the nearby pile. Working quickly, he built up a small fire, and then jabbed his wand at it, murmuring, _"Incendio."_ The logs burst obediently into flame, crackling and sparking, and the room became a little lighter. The smoke was drawn upwards and out through the ceiling vent, although some of it still hung on the air inside. Only once the fire was burning merrily away did he walk back over to the alcove and sit down on the other wool box bed. He looked at his companion – his enemy – and wished he didn't have to have this conversation right now. Or at all. "Tell me, Malfoy, have you bothered to take a look around you?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, acidly. "Probably more than you have, given how much time you spent staring into that _harpy's_ eyes." He gave a sharp, rather cold laugh. "Funny – it _would_ take travelling over a thousand years into the past to get you a girlfriend, wouldn't it, Scarhead?"

"She's _not_ –" Harry stopped himself, bit down on his instinctive reaction. It wasn't important right now. "You can't really call me that anymore," he said, instead. The scar was still _there_ , of course – Harry knew somehow, instinctively, that it would always be there – but it was no longer quite as easy to see. Only that morning, it had been practically his defining feature, yet what had once been livid red had now faded to the same old-looking white as the scar on his palm. Malfoy had noticed the change almost immediately, and found it disturbing; Harry, once he'd found some clear water to look at his reflection properly, had actually been rather pleased. He hadn't understood why, and still didn't really, but he imagined it was because Voldemort wouldn't even be _born_ for over nine hundred years.

"Whatever you say, Potter." Despite the beds being decidedly primitive, Malfoy had sunk a long way into his, and looked as if he was about to fall asleep. It had been a long day for them, though it probably wasn't much past five in the afternoon. "Did you have a point? What does whether I've _looked around_ have to do with what you're doing?"

"Well, I mean, this is obviously the _past_..."

"I had noticed that, actually." Malfoy sneered. "You think that makes this make sense?"

"Yeah, actually." Harry flicked his eyes towards the door, suddenly nervous. "First, though, do you know any privacy spells, or anything? If anyone overhears what we're talking about, they're bound to think we're crazy."

Malfoy snorted. "Are you sure that we're not?" He sighed and took his wand out of the pocket of his robes. "I know a noise dampening charm," he said. "That's the best I can do, though." He leaned forward and waved his wand in the direction of the door, muttering spell words under his breath. Harry noticed the difference immediately; the sounds from outside the hut became quieter and slightly muffled. He hoped that the same effect applied to sounds from the inside – but then, there wouldn't have been much point in casting it if it didn't.

"That's fine. It's more than I knew how to do." Harry noticed that Malfoy looked more cheerful after hearing that, though surprisingly he didn't gloat. "I don't think anyone is going to try to listen in – but I know how easy it is for someone who's just minding his own business to overhear stuff completely by accident." He thought about how that exact thing tended to happen to him – although he _did_ have the advantage of an Invisibility Cloak. The Cloak, like so many things, wasn't there with him; it had been left in a trunk in Gryffindor Tower, a thousand years in the future. That thought made his head hurt. "The charm will stop that, so we should be okay."

Malfoy's reaction surprised him. "Okay? _Nothing_ here is okay!" The other boy's voice cracked slightly, and Harry saw that he was still on the verge of some sort of breakdown, struggling valiantly not to fall apart completely. "How are _you_ so calm? What are you even trying to do? Why are we going along with this? You can't – _we_ can't – just pretend! Not about something like this! I know you're Harry Potter and you think that everything will work out for you because you're _special_ , but I just – I really don't see how it can."

"I don't –" Harry stopped and considered the accusation. _No_ , he didn't assume that things would work out because he was _famous_ , but he had always had good luck. Bad things happened to him, but something always turned up to get him out of trouble before it wound up killing him. Had he got too used to that? "I didn't mean to tell her we were _the_ Slytherin and Gryffindor, you know. How was I supposed to know _when_ we were?" He wanted to laugh hysterically. Maybe he wasn't as calm as Malfoy thought. "And once I did realise, it was too late. I was... scared of what she'd do to us if I told the truth. I don't think it would work out well for us if we did. Unless you _want_ to find out what wizards in the Dark Ages did with people they thought were mad."

"I – no, not really." Malfoy looked slightly green at the thought.

In a slow, thoughtful voice, Harry said, "You know, I don't – I don't understand it myself, why I'm accepting this so easily. How can we have travelled to the past? How can _I_ be Salazar Slytherin? What sense does that make? I mean, I know I'm not the perfect Gryffindor or anything, but still..." He shook his head. "To start with I was sure it was a dream – a really weird dream. That was why I didn't fight it at all. Now I'm not so sure. But I guess even if it is, we might as well go on as if we thought it was real, right? It can't hurt."

Malfoy gave a hollow laugh. "Oh, you are such a Muggle," he said, scornfully. "Wizards can make books you can never stop reading; didn't it occur to you that we might also have made dreams you can never stop dreaming? There are spells – forbidden spells, obviously – that can trap you in a dream for as long as you keep believing it's real."

"Oh." The very idea sounded terrifying to Harry. "Do you think that's what's happening?" What could he do if it was?

"I don't know; do you dream about me often, Potter?" Malfoy had a sly smile on his face, and Harry flushed slightly at the implication. He hadn't forgotten Ravenclaw's very delicate question from earlier. Why _would_ anyone think that? Before he could pull himself together enough to reply, Malfoy let out a deep sigh and said, "No, I don't actually think that. I mean, maybe someone would do that to you – but I'm here, and I can't see why anyone would cast a spell like that on _me_. Why would anyone risk my father's wrath to do that?" The sheer confidence that Malfoy had in his father's protection touched Harry, in a way; he'd never trusted any adult to protect him, not since he'd been very small. He wasn't considered _worth_ protecting, and he'd always known that.

Harry didn't mention any of this to Malfoy – why hand his enemy a perfectly good weapon to use against him? – and merely said, "So, you think this is reality, then? Even though – I mean, if this is real, we travelled through _time_ , over a thousand years."

" _Yes_ , I think this is real," Malfoy said, sounding impatient. "Crazy as it sounds, I think this is really happening. That's why I think you're being stupid! You can't honestly think that _we_ are actually Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor – not even _you_ are that mad, right? But – you have to have figured this out! – since we're _not_ them, the real people will turn up here eventually. Maybe really soon! And then we'll have _three_ angry Founders trying to kill us for our lies. We have to get out of here. Okay, maybe I get why you let her think we were – you know. If it was that or get cursed, or speared, or something. But we have to leave. Now."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere – as long as it's away from here!" Harry could feel Malfoy's fear; it seemed to fill the room. "Look, I know you really hit it off with Ravenclaw – I guess you're so in love with danger that a girl who might maim or murder you is your dream come true – but it's not safe to stay. You said it yourself, earlier – Salazar Slytherin is famous for his devotion to the Dark Arts. Do you really want to find out what he'll do to _you_ when he finds out you've been impersonating him?"

"I don't think he will." Harry wasn't entirely sure where his certainty was coming from, but he felt it. He stood up and unbuckled his sword belt, laying the whole thing down on his bed. It had appeared when he'd arrived in the past, the sword that had sliced his skin now neatly and safely stowed away in a scabbard that had not existed the moment before. The buckle bore the snake emblem of Slytherin House, the very same image that formed a quarter of the Hogwarts school crest. Perhaps seeing that had made Ravenclaw think – know? – that he was Slytherin.

The sword hilt – the sword felt somehow mournful when he brushed it with his fingers, although he knew that wasn't possible, that swords couldn't have feelings at all. He looked up at Malfoy, who was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. "I think – I think he's dead. I think they're both dead. That's why they never arrived here. Ravenclaw _said_ she hadn't expected to find us – them – alive. Something went wrong. That's why we're here; it has to be. We're _meant_ to be here."

"What, you believe in _destiny_ , Potter?" Malfoy was trying to sound scornful, to mock him, but the other boy was far too shaken by everything for it to work.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't even believe in _magic_ until I was eleven. I don't know enough to know what is and isn't supposed to be possible."

"You – but you –" Malfoy was wide-eyed with disbelief. "You _didn't know_ about magic? _You_ – Harry Potter, the Boy Who Wouldn't Die, the great celebrity – didn't know about magic? What were – how could you not – I don't understand." Malfoy was spluttering incoherently, and Harry could practically see his mind working. "Merlin's balls," he breathed. "The Muggles never _told_ you? That's – that's just – how do you not hate them? You've got more than enough reason to."

More reason than Harry would ever tell Malfoy; if it had only been hiding the existence of magic, he might not have minded so much. "What, my family, or Muggles in general?" He scowled and shook his head. "I don't _hate_ them, not really. I'd be happy if I never had to see them again, but I don't want to _hurt_ them or anything." Though it might be satisfying to make the Dursleys live in a cupboard for ten years. It would only be right and appropriate.

"Saint Potter, the Mudblood's friend." Malfoy sneered contemptuously. "This is – you're insane. How do you think you're going to convince anybody that you're an aspiring Dark wizard and a Muggle hater? Salazar Slytherin _despised_ Mudbloods! He didn't even want to let them into the school! And you actually _flinch_ every time I use the word!" Harry shrugged; Malfoy didn't need to know that he was just barely restraining the urge to punch him in the face. "For that matter, now _I'm_ supposed to be Godric bloody Gryffindor – and I am going to _kill_ you for that if we get out of this alive, don't think I won't!" He scowled. "If you actually had half a brain, you'd have told her it was the other way around, genius."

"You can hardly talk," Harry retorted. " _You_ stood there with your mouth hanging open for so long that Ravenclaw thought you were a half-wit. By the time I'd pulled myself together – faster than you could manage it, by the way – it was a bit late to object. Besides, I have the sword." He ran his fingers over the hilt again, and the sword hummed with magic under his touch. It felt _right_ that it should be his.

"Do you need me to leave the room so you can play with your sword?" Malfoy snapped, waspishly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sod off, Malfoy." Then a thought occurred to him. If _he_ could feel things through touching the sword, did that mean that other people could do the same? Only one way to find out. He picked up the whole sword belt and held the hilt out towards Malfoy. "Here, just hold it for a minute. I want to know if you can feel the same things as I can."

"Great, now you want _me_ to hold your sword? People will talk, Potter."

"Shut _up_." Harry gritted his teeth. "You _wanted_ to touch it earlier. Just... Take. The. Sword." And Malfoy, looking startled by his tone, reached out and took hold of the sword hilt. A strange look flitted across his face, and he bit his lip. Curious, Harry asked, "What are you feeling?"

Malfoy frowned. "I'm not really sure. It feels... strange. Almost like using someone else's wand." He let go of the sword. "I take it that's not how you feel when you touch it."

"No." Harry laid the belt on the floor next to his box bed and sat back down. "When I hold it, it feels like it's _mine_." He thought for a moment. "I suppose... it does feel a bit like a wand. But it's more than that. I didn't know – I don't know – how to use a sword. But I still managed to use it. I killed the Basilisk in a single strike right through its brain. And then I managed to get the better of Ravenclaw, out in the forest. It's almost like the sword _knows_ things." A terrible thought crossed his mind. "The diary – it contained a part of Riddle. Does this sword contain a part of Slytherin? The original one?"

"Diary? Riddle?" Harry had half forgotten that Malfoy was listening, and that he didn't know anything that had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, except that Harry had found the sword and killed the Basilisk.

"Yeah, that was how the Chamber was opened." He remembered the part the Malfoy family had played in that, and clenched his fists. "There was a magic diary that _your father_ put in Ginny Weasley's textbook, and it contained the memory of a boy called Tom Riddle – and that boy, Riddle, became Voldemort." Harry wondered if the sword could do the same thing to him as the diary had done to Ginny. How had Riddle put it? He'd _poured some of his soul_ into Ginny, to control her. "The diary memory possessed her. What if the sword is..." He couldn't finish the thought.

"I don't think so." Malfoy was looking at him in a strange way. "Do you think that diary would _only_ have worked for the Weasley girl?" Harry glared at him, but slowly shook his head. "Yeah, me neither. If the sword could possess you, I think it would try to do the same to me. But all I could feel was... _wrongness_. I swear – the sword knew me, but it knew I wasn't supposed to be its master – not yet." Malfoy seemed to flinch slightly as he said the last two words. "I don't know where that came from. Not yet? I – this is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."

"Yeah, me too," Harry said. "It might be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to anyone."

Malfoy laughed. "Probably. But – what are we going to _do_ about it? Are you seriously suggesting that we, well, _stay_ here? Work with Ravenclaw and – well, I assume Hufflepuff will turn up soon, if she isn't already here – and found Hogwarts? _Us?_ Really?"

"Oh, God, it sounds crazy when you say it like that." Harry felt uncertainty creeping into his mind. "I – yeah, that was what I was suggesting. If we don't, who will?"

"It sounds crazy because it is," Malfoy said. "But I suppose I don't really have anything better to do, so I might as well – pretend to be Gryffindor? Oh, Merlin. My father will _kill_ –" Malfoy's words cut off halfway through the sentence, and as Harry watched, he fell apart spectacularly. "God – I – I'm never – never going –" Tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his pale narrow face, and before Harry could get over his surprise at the sight, Malfoy buried his head in his hands and his shoulders began to shake with near-silent sobs.

For about thirty seconds, Harry could do nothing but stare – and then he acted on his instincts. No matter that it was _Malfoy_ , the nasty little Slytherin bully, who was crying his heart out on the other bed; Harry simply couldn't stand to sit there and watch. He went over to the other bed, sat down next to Malfoy, and – feeling more than a little awkward – put an arm around the other boy's shoulders. And he sat there for some minutes, offering what comfort he could, until eventually Malfoy's sobs tailed off into hiccups and his trembling muscles seemed to relax a little.

Then he found himself under scrutiny from incredibly puzzled grey eyes. "But – you _hate_ me."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Yesterday, after all, that had been quite true. Now, though – "I don't hate you," he said. "I can't say that I like you very much, but I don't hate you."

Malfoy sniffed. "I – well, I suppose it's a start." He looked rather embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn't mean – it just hit me that... I'm never going to see any of them again. My family. The other Slytherins. If this is real, we can't go back. We shouldn't even have been able to get here in the first place."

"Oh." Harry thought about that. It _was_ horrible. He would miss Ron and Hermione, even if the young witch's ideas sometimes drove him mad. And he'd miss the rest of the Weasleys, of course; they'd made him feel like he _belonged_ , even though he hadn't known them very long. But, for him, there was little else to regret. He'd only had friends or family at all for the last two years. Malfoy, though... while it seemed hard to believe that Lucius Malfoy could be a good or loving father, it was very clear that his son cared about him and would miss him in a way that Harry could only distantly understand. "Yeah, I didn't think about that." His lower lip quivered a little and his vision became blurry.

"Damn, Potter, don't you start crying on me now!" Malfoy's desperate, almost frightened tone shook Harry out of his misery, and he actually managed to give a weak smile. "Right. That's better. I think we ought to rest for a while. That's why Ravenclaw brought us in here – and I know I'm really tired, at least." A mischievous look drifted across his face. "You'd better go back to your own bed, mind. Unless you _really_ want to blow your chances with the fair Rowena."

"I – you little git." Harry unwound his arm from Malfoy's shoulders, and punched him lightly on the upper arm for good measure. He crossed back to the other wool box, noticing for the first time that there was a blanket of rough woven wool folded up at the end. It looked new. "If I wasn't so tired, I'd hex you," he said, but he wasn't sure if he really meant it. Malfoy only laughed, grabbed his own blanket, and settled down in the bed. Harry shook his head, and then curled up in his own pile of warm, comfortable wool and fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

He was pulled from a dreamless sleep to find that Ravenclaw was standing over him, shaking him gently. "Ah, you wake. I left you to rest as long as you could, but the dinner hour is upon us, and my father has requested your presence at the hall." Behind her, out in the main room of the house, Malfoy was washing his face in a bowl of water and looked fairly sick with nerves. He was wearing different robes, cleaner and more formal-looking than the ones he'd brought with him from the future. Ravenclaw noticed where Harry was looking and smiled. "I have new robes for you, too – I was surprised that you had nothing with you but what you carried."

Panic rose in Harry. How was he to explain this? Surely Slytherin and Gryffindor would never have travelled the length of the country so unprepared. "I – well, we –"

"It is unnecessary that you should explain," Ravenclaw said. "I have heard the tale from Godric." Over her shoulder, Malfoy pulled a grimace that showed exactly what he still thought of that name. Harry couldn't help but laugh, partly at him, and partly from relief that he wouldn't have to think up some lie on the spot. He'd never been very good at that. Ravenclaw looked around, but by the time she did, Malfoy's face was blank of all emotion. She was frowning as she turned back to Harry and held out a bundle of clothing. "Here. Now, I will leave for a few moments to allow you privacy to change." And so saying, she retreated from the house, closing the door behind her. The noise from outside became muffled as she did, revealing that the dampening charm was still working.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Malfoy. "What did you tell her?"

"Oh, I said that we were attacked by bandits, and though we fought them off, some of them escaped with our stuff." Malfoy dried his face on a small towel and tried to comb his hair with his fingers. "Luckily, I have a reputation for bravery, so it went down better than I expected." He sighed. "You know, it struck me that it's... odd that she shouldn't have known already what we – what Slytherin and Gryffindor – actually looked like."

"Not really," Harry said. "From the sound of it, I think they'd only written letters to each other. Okay, give me a minute while I get dressed." He turned his back on Malfoy and stripped off his old robes. The pile of new clothes contained a linen tunic, what seemed to be a long waistcoat in green wool, and black dress robes trimmed with silver. He scowled at the colours, but supposed that if he was Slytherin now – not just _a_ Slytherin, but _the_ Slytherin – he was going to have to get used to it. Dressing quickly, he turned back around to see that Malfoy looked no happier about the red and gold trimmings of his own outfit, and had to suppress a smile.

"I'd just thought that the Founders were all great friends _before_ they founded Hogwarts."

Harry shrugged. "Apparently not." He picked up his sword belt from the floor and fastened it around his waist. "This is so far in the past that I don't think anyone from our time has any idea what really happened. So... I don't intend to change the way I am. If I _have_ to become obsessed with the Dark Arts, or leave a Basilisk in a school, or come to hate Muggles and Muggle-borns, it'll happen on its own. I suppose the things we know about Slytherin have to be true somehow, but... we'll see how it turns out."

"There's plenty of time for you to see the light," Malfoy responded, cheerfully.

Harry ignored this and walked towards the door of the little hut. "It wouldn't hurt for _you_ to be a little nicer, though, Malfoy. Godric. I don't know."

"Ugh. _Don't_ call me that. And how come _you_ aren't going to change the way you are, but I apparently have to?" Malfoy glared at him, indignantly.

"Because you're an entitled little shit," Harry said, in a calm and reasonable voice. Malfoy's eyes widened and then narrowed, but before he could object, Harry went on: "And okay, I won't call you Godric. What, then? Gryff? Griffy?" He couldn't stop the broad grin from spreading across his face.

"I really am going to kill you someday."

"If you say so." Harry snorted. "But first – let's go and get this dinner. If you're going to kill me, I don't want to die on an empty stomach."

This made Malfoy laugh, but to Harry it sounded so much like something Ron might say that he felt more sad than amused, and couldn't join in the laughter. Still, he _was_ hungry - so together they went out of the house and into the village, ready to meet with Rowena's father.


	4. Shed Some Light

Ravenclaw was waiting for them at the end of the path up to the house, and she smiled as she saw them emerge in their clean – if inappropriately coloured – robes. "Ah!" She sounded triumphant. " _Now_ you both look far more as I had imagined, if still a little young."

Harry ignored the slight on his age, and just shrugged, but Malfoy leapt in. Perhaps he was already getting into character. "People tend to look a lot more impressive when they're not filthy, tired and scared half out of their wits." His words were accompanied by a faint sneer, but Ravenclaw either didn't notice or didn't take any offence at it.

"I had forgot how far you must both have travelled," she said, somewhat apologetically. The length of the country, more or less – or that was what she thought. But it had been much further than that for them; not hundreds of miles in distance, but hundreds of years in time. Not that Harry could say that, or even hint at it; what had happened to them was impossible.

"Yeah, it feels like my muscles can remember every inch of the road." Malfoy seemed to enjoy playing up this long and dangerous journey they had never taken, perhaps because it gave him the perfect excuse to complain some more, to what he hoped would be more sympathetic ears than Harry's. And he was probably trying to make up for having been so dull and stupid when they'd first met Ravenclaw out in the forest, although really Harry had preferred it when he'd been silent and convincingly half-witted.

"If I'd known you were so fragile, I would've made you stay behind," Harry said, eager to discourage Malfoy from whining. The other boy reminded him of a smaller, thinner Dudley when he did that, and since they were going to have to work together, that was something Harry didn't want at all. What he wanted was to leave his horrible cousin in the past – or, more accurately, hundreds of years in the future – and that meant that Malfoy was going to have to lose any habits that made him think of Dudley. Perhaps he could be trained out of them?

"Hah, I'd have liked to see you _try_ leaving me!" There was a strange note in Malfoy's voice; challenging and almost friendly. Clearly the other boy was making an effort keep up appearances as Gryffindor.

Harry decided to help out a little. "Yeah, I know, you hate being left out of adventures." Looking over at Ravenclaw, he added, "He's never forgiven me for killing the Basilisk without him."

"Arrogant Parselmouth," Malfoy muttered, darkly. Harry thought he sounded rather convincing, at least, so maybe he was a good enough actor to carry this off. "'Snakes are my business', he said. I'd have just gone and got a rooster, like any _sane_ person would, not attack the beast with a sword. And he calls _me_ reckless!"

Ravenclaw laughed. "This story of the Basilisk sounds fascinating," she said, lightly. "You must tell me the whole thing sometime, Salazar." At this, Malfoy nudged him in the ribs, hard. She noticed and raised an eyebrow at them. "I find it hard to tell if you like or hate one another."

"A bit of both." Harry felt that this was a truthful assessment. Even if he and Malfoy _did_ become friends for real – strange as that thought might seem right now – he knew they would never stop arguing. "That's why I said we were like brothers. We enjoy fighting and taunting each other."

"Indeed? As long as you both find it amusing." Her soft dark eyes sparkled, and she smiled. "I certainly do. Though you may wish to comport yourself a little differently when we are with my father. He has precious little sense of humour, and he values decorum."

Harry appreciated the warning, but it wasn't really necessary. He already knew that they would need Ravenclaw's father to like and approve of them, and adults were seldom impressed by squabbling children. "We'll be on our best behaviour," he promised, with a stern look at Malfoy.

"Of course we will," his blonde tormentor said, with a smirk. "Wouldn't want to ruin your chances, now, would we?"

Harry scowled. "Thanks, Gryff," he said, with deep sarcasm. "Can't ever keep your mouth shut, can you?" He did notice that Ravenclaw, who must surely have realised what Malfoy was implying, didn't look all that upset by it. Not that _that_ mattered.

"You're no fun, _Sal_." Malfoy was still trying to be annoying, but this time at least it didn't work; Harry decided he rather liked the nickname. He wondered whether Malfoy liked "Gryff" more than "Godric" – and whether they'd be able to get through dinner without Ravenclaw or her father noticing how uncomfortable he was with what was supposed to be his name.

As they approached the stone hall, Harry realised that he felt nervous. Whatever he'd said to Malfoy earlier, he was well aware that what he – they – were doing could prove to be very dangerous. While it certainly seemed to be true that Ravenclaw only knew the real Slytherin and Gryffindor from reading and writing letters, he and Malfoy were completely ignorant of what had been written in them. Any time he opened his mouth to say anything, he was in danger of giving away the fact that he wasn't the same person as the Salazar Slytherin of the letters. This wasn't the sort of danger he was used to – or good at – dealing with. And whatever the other boy might think, Malfoy wasn't any better than he was.

Harry wished he'd said more earlier, when they'd been alone – that he and Malfoy had formed a proper plan for how they should talk and behave – but none of the issues had occurred to him then, and now it was too late. He would just have to trust that Malfoy had as much sense as he did. He wasn't confident. _Malfoy was right. We should've run. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? What was I thinking?_ Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself, looking up at the sturdy wooden doors to the hall. Slowly the pressing hopelessness seemed to fade a little. It would be okay. It might take cunning and attention, but they _could_ do this. He smiled.

Ravenclaw had changed the subject. "The hall is a new addition to the village, unlike a lot of the houses. My grandfather had it built only twenty years ago, or so I am told." Hearing the pride in her voice, Harry transferred his gaze to the cut stones that made up the building's walls. He wondered how it kept itself together; there seemed to be no cement or mortar. Rowena must have seen him looking, because she said, "I had intended to have a keep something like this one as a central building for the school, but of course we can go over the specifics later." She smiled a little sheepishly, and added, "That is, unless you have a different plan. This place has been my home all my life; perhaps I am too biased as to its usefulness."

"No, I like it." Harry wanted to look at the building, but his eyes kept wandering back to Ravenclaw's smile. Though he had resisted the idea of changing his personality, he thought it might be better to give a more complete, more Slytherin reply, rather than simple politeness. "It seems to be solidly built, warm and easy to defend. We might want something bigger eventually, I suppose." He was thinking of the Hogwarts castle he had known in his own time; the castle that Professor Binns had claimed was over a thousand years old; the castle that _he_ was going to hide a Basilisk in someday, if the rumours were true – and he didn't understand at all. "It would be a good idea to research building styles, I think. Just to be sure." He noticed that the mention of research seemed to cheer her up – not that he found it surprising.

"I know a few things about castle architecture," Malfoy said, which Harry _did_ find surprising - or at least, he did until he reflected that the snobbish boy had probably been brought up in some sort of castle.

"So you do actually have a use, then?" Harry was mostly teasing, now.

"I have many uses," Malfoy said, haughtily, but the look on his face only made Harry laugh.

"I suppose I've yet to find most of them, then." Harry grinned and ducked under Malfoy's attempt to hit him. They were by this time practically on the doorstep of the hall, so he took a deep breath to compose himself. "Okay, we're here; better stop acting like a wild animal, Godric, and start acting like a wizard." Malfoy grimaced at him, but Harry just laughed and stood aside so that Ravenclaw could throw the doors open for them.

The hall within was lit by flickering torches that made the shadows seem to dance. A stone fireplace sat at the centre, and the walls were decorated with cloth hangings and banners, all in the dark blue and bronze that he thought of as Ravenclaw colours. A large table at one end, set with four places but groaning with far more food than four people could ever eat – even people like Vernon and Dudley Dursley. Harry suddenly realised how hungry he was, and when he cast a sideways look at Malfoy, he could see that the other boy's gaze was concentrated on the food, as though he was afraid that it would disappear if he took his eyes off it for even a moment.

The room was probably more primitive than grand, objectively speaking – but then, Harry had grown up in a cupboard, so it seemed pretty damned fine to him. He was so busy looking at the decorations that he almost didn't notice when a man came forward to greet them, a man only a few inches taller than he was, wearing midnight blue silk robes and a rather stern expression. Perhaps if Harry had never met Snape, he might have been afraid – but really, the memory of Snape made Ravenclaw's father seem positively cheerful and friendly. He stood his ground and met the man's gaze as calmly as he could.

"So, you are the young men my Rowena has spoken of so much during these past few months." His voice was cold and dry, but as far as Harry could tell he wasn't trying to be hostile. "For her sake, I am glad that you have not met an untimely end on the road, though I understand you had a narrow escape." A faint smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth and he nodded slightly, silently thanking Malfoy for his clever story. He let his hand rest casually on his sword hilt, with the idea of making himself look more like the young warrior he was supposed to be… and the moment he did, a terrifying vision rose up before his eyes.

He saw only brief flashes, scenes that came and went so quickly that he could barely grasp any details at all, but what he did see – and feel – filled him with horror. Blood, smoke, pain, the thunder of horse's hooves. A scream, high-pitched and agonised. Fear. Something warm and wet sprayed across his face, a metallic tang in his mouth. Thoughts that were not his own. _Godric's blood - oh, God, no, he's…_ Despair. Spear points shining oddly in the moonlight. Anger. Magic lashing out, the destructive power cutting through the enemy. Sharp agony, not in one place but many, all over him. The ground, damp and soaked with blood. Fading. _Terror_. And then… darkness.

Harry let go of the sword hilt, his heart pounding, his breath rasping and uneven. He didn't need to ask what had just happened. Somehow, the sword had shown him the last moments of the real Salazar Slytherin, or at least the gruesome highlights. He shivered; it had been a horrible way to die. The others were staring at him; apparently his distress had been obvious. Rowena looked concerned, her father curious, Malfoy equal parts confused and annoyed. "Sorry, I…" Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "I was thinking of – remembering – the attack. It… it affected me. I'm sorry." He looked directly at Malfoy, willing him to say something helpful, and for once he was not disappointed.

"C'mon, Sal, it's alright now." The other boy patted his arm gently, and then smiled up at the Ravenclaws. "Don't mind him," Malfoy said, cheerfully. "Salazar is more clever than brave; these things affect him more." Harry wondered vaguely if that was supposed to be a joke, a compliment or an insult.

"You were in grave danger, then?" Rowena's eyes were wide, her expression distraught.

Malfoy snorted. "As grave as danger can be, with Muggles," he said, scornfully.

Harry, having just witnessed the murder of two wizards older and more experienced than either of them, thought that Malfoy was being characteristically stupid. "This is why I call you reckless, Godric." He was relieved to find that his voice came out sounding clear and level. "If there had been more of them, we wouldn't have stood a chance." There _had_ been more of them, and they _hadn't_ stood a chance. _Slaughtered. Ripped apart. Finished._ Another shiver of nervous reaction ran down his spine.

"I'd have saved you." Malfoy patted him on the back and gave what Harry considered a very Gryffindorish grin. Had he not just seen what came of such over-confidence, he might have been amused – or at least relieved that Malfoy could play his part so well.

"Stop playing the fool, Godric," he snapped, coldly, knowing he was being harsh, but not really caring. "It could've been much worse, and you're not invincible." It _had_ been so much worse. That was why he and Malfoy had been dragged through time in the first place. He'd guessed at the truth already, but it was one thing to say _I think they're dead_ , and quite another thing to see exactly what that death had entailed.

"Says the guy who stuck a sword through the roof of a Basilisk's mouth?" Malfoy asked, gently mocking. Harry glared at him, thinking that their conversation was getting perilously close to an argument. He didn't want Ravenclaw's father to think that they were uncivilised – or worse, immature.

The man broke in to their conversation then, saying, "Well, at least it seems that my daughter will be well protected if you go ahead with this foolish school idea."

"I have no need of their _protection_ , Father!" Rowena retorted, sounding more than a little angry at the thought. "I can defend myself."

Her father arched an eyebrow. "I will not hear of young girls making their way in the world unprotected, Rowena," he said, sternly. "Hufflepuff may let his daughter ride about the country with naught but her wand to defend her life and her modesty, but I am not a fool." He shook his head, fiercely. "Now, I will hear no more about this. We will eat dinner and there will be no talk of schools or of fighting."

Rowena sighed. "Yes, father." Apparently it would do no good to argue with him.

The man gave a thin smile, and then said, "Oh, how rude of me; I have yet to introduce myself." His eyes fell on Harry, but he diplomatically didn't mention the fact that any chance of introductions had been interrupted by his vision, or flashback – whatever that had been. "I am Edgar, Lord of Raven's Claw. You are welcome in my house and in my town, travellers from the South."

Harry did his best to copy the strange bow that Rowena had done when they'd first met. "Salazar Slytherin, my lord," he said, trying not to giggle at the absurdity of it all. "And my friend Godric Gryffindor. I won't tell you anything about him; he'll tell you more than you'd ever want to know over dinner." Rowena laughed. Malfoy didn't. Edgar only inclined his head slightly and gestured with his arm that they should all follow him across the hall to the loaded dining table. Harry and Malfoy were both only too happy to oblige.

Either the roasted boar was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted in his life, or he'd been much hungrier than he'd realised. The meat wasn't quite like pork; it had a different, more powerful flavour, and it seemed to melt in his mouth. If he hadn't been quietly conscious of the need to not look like a savage in front of Rowena's father, he would have eaten far faster. As it was, he tried as best he could to imitate Malfoy's more refined table manners – for the first time actually admitting, if only to himself, that perhaps the other boy knew how to do something better than he did. He was hardly about to say any such thing _out loud_ , of course.

They ate dinner in relative silence; between the hunger and the fear of saying something that might give the game away, Harry didn't really have much he wanted to say. Malfoy made polite small talk in a way that suggested he'd been doing it since he'd been old enough to speak – which was probably pretty close to the truth – and Rowena kept trying to draw him into a conversation. Usually, Harry would've been quite happy to talk to her; she was interesting, and nothing at all like what he'd imagined Rowena Ravenclaw would be like. Right now, though, he was too afraid to say much to her. Anything he said could end up ruining everything. He needed to find the letters, the ones Salazar Slytherin had written to her.

Once they had eaten as much food as they possibly could, Lord Edgar excused himself to retreat to his study, and Rowena took Harry and Malfoy to her own personal room. To Harry's surprise, there was a bed in the room. Noticing where he was looking, she flushed and said, "Unlike my father, I do not have my own study. This is the only room I have where we can be alone to discuss our plans." She gave a crooked smile. "Don't worry; Father will be sure to come up here and see how our talks are going – probably several times throughout the evening."

Harry laughed. "He can't imagine you'd want _both_ of us at the same time for anything other than talking?"

Rowena snorted. "I am never sure quite _what_ he thinks of me," she said. "He seems sure that my modern ways will be the death of society as we know it, though." She gestured towards the bed. "Sit and be comfortable; I will be a few minutes. There are several books that I would like you to look at, but I have to find them first." So saying, she left the room.

They listened to her footsteps until she was out of earshot, and then Malfoy turned to Harry. "What the hell happened earlier?" he asked, in an angry whisper. "You just started shaking for no reason! I'm glad you thought up a cover story so quickly, but – what was it, really?"

Harry pulled a face. "It wasn't exactly a lie, what I said. I don't really understand it." Memories of those terrible images rose up again before his eyes, and he shuddered. "I touched the sword, and somehow it showed me – the real bandit attack. I was right, you know; they're dead. Horribly dead. It was really awful just to watch. And then _you_ started talking about how Muggles aren't dangerous! I wanted to hit you."

"You spend most of the time wanting to hit me," Malfoy pointed out.

"Well, I wanted to hit you even more than usual." Harry sighed. "Anyway, while Rowena isn't here, I want to look for those letters. We need to find out who we're supposed to be, what we're supposed to be like. Before we say something that doesn't add up." He looked around the room. There was a desk with papers and books piled high, a chest, a set of shelves... he had no idea where to start looking.

"Try under the pillow," Malfoy suggested, in a snide voice. Lacking any better ideas – and seeing that the bed, unlike the ones they had slept on earlier, actually _had_ a pillow – Harry slid his hand under it. His fingers brushed something. Paper? He pulled it out. Crumpled pieces of paper, covered in cramped boyish handwriting. _The letters_. Malfoy stared. "Shit, I was _joking_ ," he said, shaking his head.

"Joking or not, it was good advice," Harry said, smoothing the letters out on his lap and trying to read them. The first thing he noticed was that the handwriting was eerily similar to his own. Not identical, but similar enough that if he tried, he ought to be able to imitate it successfully. Shaken, he tried to absorb as many of the details from the letters as possible, feeling very conscious now of the fact that he was reading the words of a dead man. That he was _impersonating_ a dead man. He wasn't sure whether his idea that this was what he was meant to be doing – that this was fate – excused him for that particular crime.

"Looks like you're in luck." Malfoy grinned. "She's already in love with you, if she's keeping your letters under her pillow."

Harry blushed. "It's not _me_ she's in love with – if she's in love with anybody," he hissed. "I didn't write these, after all. Now shut up, I'm trying to read." There really weren't that many details to learn. It seemed that Salazar Slytherin had been every bit as secretive as Harry would have imagined. There was a certain amount of warmth in the letter where he wrote about Gryffindor, and suggested bringing him into the scheme. "Here, there's a description of you in here, too," he said to Malfoy. " _My friend, Godric Gryffindor, has a lot to offer this sort of venture. He's brave, if a little foolish, and he is an excellent magical duellist. If you are happy with this suggestion, I will bring him North with me as the seasons change._ "

"That's why she said we were late," Malfoy said, slowly. "As the seasons change – it's June now. They would have left home sometime in May; that's when the weather gets warmer on the South coast. It shouldn't take that long to get here."

"Yeah, well, now we know why it did." Harry still felt slightly sick thinking about it. "Okay, well, Slytherin didn't say much about you, so I guess you can just... be whoever you want. To be honest, he didn't say much about _himself_ , either. I think I have the basic facts in my head, though. As long as I don't manage to contradict any of those things, we should be okay. He claims to be good at charms and swordplay, and I always got good marks in Charms, so it'll work out." He frowned. "Funny, I always expected Salazar Slytherin to be good at Potions. Maybe that's because of Snape."

Malfoy laughed. "There isn't any requirement for Slytherins to be good at or like Potions." There was a noise in the corridor, and his head snapped around towards the door. "Ravenclaw's coming back," he warned, but it was too late for Harry to do anything about it.

Rowena, her arms full of books, took a few steps into the room before noticing the letters in Harry's hands. "Oh!" She looked very embarrassed. "I... wanted to have them close by, so – in case there was anything in them that we needed to discuss. Yes."

Harry smiled, despite Malfoy jabbing him in the ribs with a bony elbow. "Of course, I understand. That makes sense." He folded the letters again and put them back under the pillow, as if there was nothing unusual at all about finding letters you'd sent to a potential business associate in such a place. Suddenly, thinking about Malfoy's constant teasing on the subject, he wondered if Rowena _had_ been attracted to Slytherin just from reading his – strangely reticent – letters. If so, that gave a whole different meaning to her preoccupation with his age. A girl of possibly fifteen could only be disappointed by her imagined dashing hero turning out to be a scrawny thirteen year old boy. It was a surprisingly painful thought.

"Good." Rowena put the books down on the desk, and turned to face the two boys. "I think now that we're all face to face, we should use first names. If this plan of ours becomes reality, we will become very close, so it seems unnecessarily formal to carry on with Ravenclaw and Slytherin. It will scandalise my father, which is another argument in favour." Harry snickered a little at that. "So, you may call me Rowena, and I will call you Salazar and Godric."

Harry didn't look at Malfoy; he didn't want to know if the other boy was showing his disgust at the name. A thought occurred to him, and he couldn't resist saying it out loud. "Salazar is my father's name, Rowena." He smirked. "You can call me Sal."


	5. Canis Latinicus

It was night, and they were once again alone in the little wooden house. Even if Harry had not wanted to talk to Malfoy, he might have lain awake for some time; now he was no longer utterly exhausted, he was aware of how lumpy and itchy the wool underneath his body was. He must have got too used to sleeping in a _proper_ bed. He shifted around a little, trying to get more comfortable. "I think the first thing we need to do is invent the mattress," he muttered.

Malfoy snorted. " _Now_ who's whining?" After a moment, though, he scowled. "I could kill for a proper goose feather duvet, though. I suppose I shall have to pretend that we're on a camping trip, or something, for the sake of my own sanity. Surely you must have been camping, Potter?"

"Well, I slept on the floor of a cabin once," Harry said, remembering the hut on the rock with some fondness. He'd first found out about magic there, after all. "Wait, you mean that _you've_ been camping?" he asked, suddenly. Somehow it didn't seem to fit with his idea of Malfoy.

"God, no." Malfoy looked at him as if he was insane. "But I've _read_ about it."

This was an attitude that Harry was familiar with; Hermione was always _reading_ about things. "It's not the same thing," he said. "Reading about things doesn't make you understand them. Or help you cope with scrap wool bedding." He fidgeted a bit more, and thought about how to explain what he meant. "I don't know; you're rich, right? You could read a book about what it's like to be poor but that wouldn't make you understand it."

"Why would I _want_ to?" Malfoy seemed genuinely bewildered.

Harry somehow refrained from hitting him. "I don't know; empathy, maybe?" He sighed. "Anyway, that's not the point. How do you think it went back there?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, I think you're doing okay with Rowena, even with the weird vision or fit or whatever it was." Harry shot him a poisonous glare, so he went on, hurriedly: "Okay, I'll cut it out. Yeah, I think we're doing alright. I don't think they even suspect the truth – I mean, that we're not the real thing, not the time travel business. And now we know what was in the letters, we ought to be able to keep this up, assuming you still think that we should do that."

"We're here – and now – and _someone_ has to make sure that Hogwarts is founded," Harry pointed out. "So we might as well make the best job we can of it." Grudgingly, he added, "It was clever of you to suggest looking under her pillow; I'd never have thought to do that, you know."

"Oh… well, that's where girls always keep letters in old romance novels." Malfoy looked a little uncomfortable.

Harry grinned. "And how would _you_ know that?"

"I – no reason." There was a definite pink tinge to Malfoy's pale cheeks. "That's not important right now, anyway. You think we'll meet Hufflepuff soon?"

Harry allowed the subject change, mostly because he'd been wondering about the missing fourth Founder as well. "Yeah, I should think so," he said. "Lord Edgar mentioned her briefly; I think it sounds like she could be fun. Though I bet she's nothing like anything either of us would imagine."

"She's probably really young." Malfoy sounded puzzled, as well as a little relieved that Harry had let the previous subject drop. "It's weird; since Hogwarts is a school – and a famous school, at that – I'd always assumed that the people who founded it were scholars or something. Not a bunch of, well, _kids_ with barely any education themselves."

"It's the Dark Ages." Harry had been thinking along the same lines as Malfoy, and had come to a sort of conclusion. "You and I can read and write. That makes us practically scholars even _before_ you remember that we've had two years of proper magical education."

"Yeah, I guess." Malfoy smiled slightly. "If what I was taught is true, before Hogwarts existed parents would just teach their children any magic that they happened to have picked up themselves. Nothing was well organised, and a lot of people just made up their own spells. It seems like Rowena was offended by the complete lack of organisation, and decided to gather some people together to change things." He frowned. "So, how did she know or come across Slytherin? Did you work that out from the letters?"

"Mm, yeah; it sounds as if some wizard elder or other recommended him to her as 'another young scamp with no respect for tradition and continuity'." Harry snickered. "Slytherin's first letter quoted that, and replied with, _'I wouldn't say that I dislike rules or traditions in themselves; rather, that I follow rules only if they are right, and observe traditions only if they make sense.'_ I wonder what Rowena made of that; it would be great to be able to read her letters. But I don't think there's any way we could manage to do that."

"That sounds a lot like something you'd say, actually," Malfoy said, thoughtfully.

"Well, Dumbledore did say I had a lot of the qualities that Salazar Slytherin valued." Harry stopped suddenly, confused. "Wait, if I _am_ him, then of course I do. Did. Damn it, this whole time travel thing is giving me a headache."

"It's giving me a sodding migraine." Malfoy scowled, but then brightened and said, "Hey, I really am a scholar by the standards of when we are. I never thought the Latin tutoring would be useful for anything, but I suppose it might be now."

Harry choked. " _Latin tutoring?_ Oh, God, you really are a repressed little posh kid, aren't you?"

"Repressed little - what?"

"You are! Normal kids don't get _tutored_ in _Latin!_ " Harry was practically giggling now, and Malfoy looked both confused and offended. "If you were a Muggle, you'd have gone somewhere like Smelting's, and worn ridiculous knickerbockers and a boater. Or maybe to _Eton_ like Finch-Fletchley was supposed to!"

"Both of those sound ghastly," Malfoy said, grimly, his distinctly upper-class drawl only making Harry laugh harder even as he tried to stop. After a moment, he snapped, "Shut up, Potter! God, what I wouldn't give for you to be locked up in the closed ward at St. Mungo's. But St. Mungo's won't even be _built_ for another six hundred years. Just my luck, that." He kept his face straight, just barely, but Harry could see a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Damn it, Potter, _stop laughing_ ; nothing is funny!" Despite the words, Malfoy seemed incapable of following his own advice; he let out a weak snort of laughter, and his shoulders started to shake.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I think we have to laugh, really. It's either that or cry." He paused for a moment. "Again."

"I did _not_ cry," Malfoy said, firmly. "If you think I did, you must have imagined it."

"If you say so." Harry stretched out his body and tried to regulate his breathing. Once he'd finally conquered the giggles, he looked up and said, "You know, Malfoy, you're not _that_ bad."

"I know. I've been trying to tell you that for two years now." Malfoy gave a broad, almost gloating smile, which faded almost as quickly as it appeared. "Oh, I see; you want to be friends now because I'm the last person on earth? Well, more or less."

"Hah. I guess you _are_ the last person I have left from my own time." Harry shrugged. "Perhaps. That's for me to know and you to obsess over."

Malfoy shook his head. "Can't be bothered," he said, yawning. "I think I'll get some sleep instead."

"That's probably a better idea." Harry rolled over and pulled the wool blanket up over himself. He'd slept on the floor of a cupboard for ten years; he'd survive a primitive bed. At least it was soft and warm.

* * *

Morning came, and Harry woke to find Malfoy still curled up in bed, asleep and snoring softly. He briefly considered waking the other boy, but then decided against it when he couldn't remember the charm to make freezing cold water shoot out of his wand. In the main room, the fire – being a magical fire – was still burning, but he piled a few fresh logs on just to make it look right, before opening the front door and looking outside. It still seemed to be early morning, but from the sounds and smells out there, most people already seemed to be up and about – and someone, probably Rowena, had left some basic tools and food on the front step. Apparently they weren't to be invited to the hall for breakfast.

He shrugged and picked up the gifts, taking them over to the fireplace and trying to figure out what to do with them. While he knew how to cook better than most boys his age probably did, he wasn't entirely sure how to cope without electricity and the technology he was used to. Still, he reasoned, frying eggs shouldn't be too difficult – and he was right; by the time Malfoy stirred, he had already cooked and eaten three eggs and two slices of coarse dark-coloured bread. The blonde boy pushed aside the curtain to the bed alcove, blinking sleepily, before staring at the food in a confused manner.

"Wha – breakfast?" Malfoy's body seemed to have woken up several minutes before his brain. "You can cook? Where did you –?"

Harry cracked a couple of eggs into his makeshift frying pan and then looked up. "My aunt taught me how to make a good breakfast," he said, deliberately leaving out the exact circumstances.

"Oh, good." Malfoy stared hungrily at the eggs. "I've got no idea how to cook anything. That's what house elves are for." He stood, blinking stupidly and rubbing his eyes, until Harry felt motivated to do something to _help_ him.

Picking up his wand, he pointed it in Malfoy's direction and murmured, " _Aqua Frigoris_." The charm he hadn't been able to remember earlier had its usual effect, firing a jet of icy water directly into the other boy's face. Malfoy staggered backwards and cursed violently. Harry widened his eyes in surprise; he hadn't realised little posh boys learned such language.

"Shit," Malfoy groaned, shaking his head. "That... what was that for? You're a bloody menace, Potter."

"I'm also making you breakfast." Harry grinned up at him. "You looked like you needed waking up, so I decided to give you a hand." Laughing at the murderous expression on Malfoy's face, he asked, "What's wrong? Don't you want to be my friend anymore?"

Malfoy growled. "No. I want to stab you in the eye. That spell is horrible."

"Suit yourself." Harry scraped a fried egg onto a slice of the bread, and offered it to Malfoy. "Eat this first, then if you still want to stab me I'll find you a knife."

Grumbling, Malfoy seized the food without offering any sort of thanks, and tore into it as if he hadn't feasted on roast boar the previous evening. As soon as the first egg had disappeared, Harry got another slice of bread and slid the other egg onto it. "Okay," Malfoy said, accepting the second helping with slightly more grace than he had the first. "I guess I won't stab you after all." He ate the rest of his breakfast, and then pulled a face. "I suppose coffee is out of the question?"

"I don't think coffee is a thing yet," Harry said, ignoring Malfoy's groan. He'd never really got a taste for the stuff; it was far too bitter, and he much preferred sweet things. "Here, just drink some water or something." He watched as Malfoy drank clean water from one of the cups, and realised that he felt a little guilty for the trick with the ice-jet spell – which was strange, since usually he wouldn't have cared about the idea of possibly having been mean to the other boy. If Ron had seen, he would've... Harry's thoughts slammed to a stop, and he had to take several deep breaths to keep himself from crying. He would _not_ think about that. "Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry about the water in the face."

"Really? Okay, then." Malfoy looked surprised. "Don't worry about it; I'll just have to find some way to get you back."

"I'm going to regret starting this, aren't I?"

"I hope so." There was a hint of a wicked grin on Malfoy's face, and that definitely couldn't mean anything good.

Wanting to distract him from any possible thoughts of revenge, Harry said, "I know I took the piss out of you last night, but – you really speak Latin? Seriously?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Well, I don't actually _speak_ it; no one does. It's a dead language. Or it is in the future. I learned to read and write in Latin, and a lot of awful stuff about verbs, but I'm not sure about pronouncing words." After pausing for a moment, he shrugged. "Either way, I think it'll be useful; I'll be able to read some books that you wouldn't understand, even if I can't say the words properly." He gave a faint snort of amusement. "You know, _I_ didn't ever think the lessons would be useful either. I used to complain about them and try to get my father to send the tutor away."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Harry asked, thinking about Malfoy's apparent need to complain about anything and everything.

"Maybe because anyone sane would try to get out of Latin tutoring?" Malfoy suggested.

"I thought we'd already decided we were insane?" Harry hadn't yet discounted it as a possibility, anyway.

"As far as I'm concerned, they haven't taken the final vote on that yet," Malfoy said, and drained his cup of water. He put it down on the floor and tried to straighten his robes a little so that it wouldn't look like he'd slept in them. "I suppose we ought to go out and do something at some point this morning."

"Hm, yeah." Harry frowned. "We need to wash these up first, but then we could go and find Rowena, see what she's got planned. Or what there is to do around here. It's hardly Diagon Alley, but there must be _something_ to stop us from getting so bored we start killing each other just for something to do."

"Because of course when I do finally snap and kill you, I want it to be for a good reason."

"Oh. Well, that's good to know." Harry shook his head slightly, and turned his attention back to the cups and his cooking equipment. "I have no idea what people used to use to do their washing up."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Are you a wizard or not?" He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the offending objects. " _Scourgify!"_ Everything was suddenly clean, just as if it had never been used. "Don't stare at me like you've never seen magic before, Potter."

Harry scowled. "Okay, I am never going to be fooled into an arrangement where I do all the cooking and you do all the washing up if that's how you do it."

"Don't tell me you see using magic as cheating; you're a _wizard_ , for Merlin's sake," Malfoy said, scornfully. "And anyway, you could _cook_ with magic, and then we'd both be cheating! Or didn't you know that?"

"I don't know how," Harry admitted, shrugging. "And nor do you, or you'd have said so earlier. So the only way any cooking gets done around here is if I do it the Muggle way, by the look of it."

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Neither of us can even use magic to _cook_. There is no bloody way we're going to be able to teach anybody anything."

"Except Latin." Harry laughed at the look on Malfoy's face. "Oh, come on, stop trying to imitate Snape; you'll never be as scary as he is, even if you live long enough to meet him again." He stopped for a moment, suddenly realising that they were going to _die_ in the past, long before anyone they'd ever known would be born, if nothing happened to take them back to their own time. It was a disturbing thought. And more than that, Godric Gryffindor at least had a death date recorded. If Malfoy had ever read _Hogwarts: A History_ – which Harry, despite Hermione repeatedly telling him to read the book, had never done, though now he rather wished he had – then he knew exactly how long he would live.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Malfoy said.

"Not exactly. I was wondering how much of the history we know will be changed just by our being here." Harry sighed. "Well, really, I was wondering if the fact that we know Slytherin and Gryffindor survived to found and run Hogwarts together for a long time means that we'll be safe. You at least _ought_ to live to be an old man and die peacefully in your bed or something. I don't remember the details."

Malfoy shot a pointed look at the sword, laying in its belt next to the fire pit. "Ask the originals how safe they were. I'm not sure what _ought_ to happen means a damn anymore."

"Right," Harry said, swallowing heavily. "Point taken." He picked up the sword belt and fastened it around his waist; he wasn't sure what they were going to do, but he knew he didn't like being separated from the sword. Not that he'd say that out loud. Malfoy would only make some crude innuendo if he did. "Okay, do you want to go see if we can find Rowena, or should we explore the woods around here on our own – or did you want to do something else?"

"Let's look for Rowena first," Malfoy suggested. "Even if she's busy, or doesn't want us around the whole time, she'll be able to tell us where we should and shouldn't go. And besides, she'll probably be worried if we disappear off somewhere without telling her. It's bad manners to do that to your host – though I suppose it's too much to expect that _you_ were ever taught any etiquette."

"At least I learned not to be an obnoxious git." Harry wasn't sure that Malfoy had any idea what manners really were. Maybe he knew some behaviour rules, but that wasn't the same thing at all.

"Because firing ice water into someone's eye isn't at all obnoxious."

"Shut up, Malfoy; I know I didn't get you in the eye."

"Not for want of trying." Malfoy grimaced at him.

"Anyway, I may have fired water into your _face_ , but you kind of left out the fact that I made you breakfast afterwards."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Great. I'm in an abusive relationship now."

Harry snorted. "What, you've never had a friend wake you up in a stupid way before? Like tipping cold water over you, or firing a Stinging Hex at you, or levitating a book onto your face – or, I don't know, just shaking you awake or something?" He only realised after he'd finished speaking that he had implied that he and Malfoy were _friends_ now – which obviously wasn't true – but before he could correct that, the other boy spoke, and it suddenly didn't seem that important anymore.

"No, I never have." Malfoy shrugged. "I don't think you understand how life works for people like me. We don't _do_ that sort of thing. It's undignified."

"Fun is undignified?" Harry almost didn't believe it – but then, Malfoy _was_ a repressed little posh kid.

"You have a strange idea of what's fun," Malfoy said, scowling.

Harry shook his head. "It's fun when _you_ do it to someone else." Unexpected and impossible things were always happening to him, but this one really took the biscuit – he actually felt _sorry_ for Draco Malfoy. "And it's fun when you end up in a prank war. Unless it's with the Weasley twins, because then you're doomed. No one crosses them." Harry sighed. "I can't believe that you always care about being _dignified_. You were always making a complete idiot of yourself provoking me and Ron and Hermione."

"Be fair; I made you look like complete idiots sometimes, too." Malfoy's smirk didn't look quite natural, like his heart wasn't really in it. "Of course, fighting with Gryffindors is about the only time no one looks at you funny for doing that sort of thing. So of course we try to do it as often as possible."

"Oh." Harry wasn't really sure what to say. It had taken him until he was eleven to find friends, love and acceptance – but it sounded like Malfoy had never found them at all. "I don't mind fighting with you, not now. I think it's... fun. So, you know, do your worst."

Malfoy's face lit up, and Harry _knew_ he was going to regret this. "I rather think I will, Potter. Or... Sal, I guess. We should get used to the names we're supposed to have. If only Godric wasn't such a damned stupid name, maybe it'd be easier." He sighed. "There isn't any way around it, though; I don't imagine I can get you to call me 'God'."

Harry laughed. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea." He straightened his robes and murmured a spell to remove some of the creases. Being friends with Hermione had taught him how to at least make it _look_ as if he hung his robes up at night, rather than leaving them in piles on the floor. "We probably ought to beg or borrow some changes of clothes at some point," he said, frowning. "If only to keep up appearances. Alright, then; let's go outside." Seeing Malfoy hesitate, he snapped, "Come on! You don't look _that_ terrible, and we can't stay in here all day."

"Right, okay." Malfoy blinked a couple of times like he wasn't really sure what to make of Harry, but he followed him out of the house without any further complaint – miracle though that was.

The sun was bright and fairly high in the sky; a hastily cast _Tempus_ revealed that it was a little after nine o'clock, which annoyed Harry somewhat. He'd never been a late riser, and from the look of things, people got up early here and got to work straight away. Laying in bed while others were doing things had never sat right with him; he really wasn't lazy, and he hated to have anyone think that of him. Still, he supposed that just this once it was allowable. As far as Rowena or the others here knew, they'd been on a long journey and narrowly escaped a horrible fate at the hands of armed and violent criminals. Sleeping late was understandable in the circumstances, and they'd probably get away with it.

They found Rowena in her father's library, which didn't surprise Harry at all. She was poring over a large book, laboriously copying something down one word at a time, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. He smiled; watching her, he was suddenly seized with the urge to study something himself. "Need any help, Rowena?" he asked, gently, but she still jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, Sal, I didn't hear you come in." She smiled. "I'm translating a book about advances in Transfiguration, but alas, it's in Church Latin, and I'm not as proficient in the language as I ought to be."

Harry patted Malfoy on the shoulder, and said, "Godric's pretty good with it, _and_ he's not bad at Transfiguration. Maybe he can help you while I do something else." Malfoy stared at him as though unable to understand why Harry would help him – but Harry couldn't forget what he'd heard earlier. _Malfoy didn't have any friends._ It might well be sympathy for the devil, but still. "I could write down some of the stuff I've learned about magical creatures, if that'd be helpful." Perhaps memorising his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ could turn out to be less of a waste of time than he'd thought. He'd been fascinated by the book; the idea that such things actually existed, that the world was nowhere near as boring as he'd been taught, had been irresistible to him.

"It might be a good thing to have," Rowena said, thoughtfully. Then her eyes fell on the world outside the window, and a dazzling smile overtook her face. "Though I think that we should postpone studying for a little while – I want to show you something. Do you think you could manage just a little more walking? It is no great distance, I assure you."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a look, and then Malfoy said, "I think we're both alright. We slept well and had a good breakfast."

"I am relieved to hear it. I would have woken you for breakfast at the hall, but father assured me you would rather sleep on." Rowena frowned. "I think he disapproves – not of you personally, but of what your coming here means. He thinks that I am a stupid child with silly idealistic dreams for the future, and at the same time he worries because I will be sixteen this coming winter and do not yet have a husband, nor even a betrothal promise." Harry remembered that he had meant to ask Malfoy what 'betrothal' meant, but now he understood without asking.

"Do you really need that?" He knew he was thinking like a child of the 1980s, not whatever decade they were currently in, but that was hardly something he could change. It helped that he knew Salazar Slytherin to have been similar in his views – though he didn't think the opinions had come from the same place. The original young man had seemed nothing more than utterly _indifferent_ to women. Maybe Rowena would have been disappointed either way.

"My father thinks I do," Rowena said, with a gentle sigh. "And I am his only child, so his expectations for me are important, even if they are not what I would wish for myself."

"I understand that." Malfoy smiled rather bitterly. Having met Lucius Malfoy, however briefly, Harry thought he understood where that was coming from.

Wanting to lighten the mood, he changed the subject. "So where is this thing you were going to show us, Rowena?"

"In the forest," she said, her eyes showing that she was perfectly aware of what he was doing. "There is a pond – or a lake, I suppose. It's my quiet place. I would like to show it to you – both of you." Harry wondered if this was a gesture of trust and friendship, or if Rowena was afraid of her father hovering over them all day if they stayed inside. "Just give me a moment to pen a note to Helga, in case she arrives before we return. I have been expecting her at least these last three afternoons, but Helga is... not the most punctual of people. And yet she has one of the fastest horses I've ever known."

"Hufflepuff?" So they were going to meet her soon. Harry wondered what she'd be like. Rowena was both like and unlike what he'd imagined Ravenclaw to be – so maybe Hufflepuff would be the same.

"Yes. Helga has been my friend for years. You will... like her, I hope." There was a degree of nervousness in Rowena's voice that Harry hadn't really expected, though he probably ought to have done; if she wanted this plan to work, they all had to get along, or the school would never get started at all.

"I'm sure we will." Harry couldn't imagine disliking a good friend of Rowena's. Nor could he imagine disliking the Founder Hufflepuff, whose enduring fame was her good nature and acceptance of anyone who wanted to learn.

Rowena smiled. "Good, then." She rose from the table and closed the book, leaving a scrap of parchment inside to mark the place. "Come; I will show you the lake."


	6. Counting Stars

Rowena had been telling the truth; it didn't take long to get to the lake, not even long enough for Malfoy to start complaining about it.

It was as beautiful and peaceful as she'd made it sound, too. The belt of trees surrounding the lake seemed almost like a shield, dividing and protecting it from the rest of the world. Harry knew that sounded fanciful and maybe stupid, but he couldn't help but wonder if that was what Rowena liked about it. He didn't ask her – with Malfoy so close, the last thing he wanted was to say anything that the other boy could make fun of – but he did smile at her, and he thought that her answering smile looked as if she might understand what he was feeling.

Malfoy ignored them both and headed towards a small stony strip of beach, but Harry stayed still in the shade of the tall trees and kept looking. Rowena stood beside him, and for several minutes neither of them moved or spoke. Then she turned to him and asked, in a bright voice: "So, how do you like this place? Beautiful, is it not? I have lost so many hours here, on summer's days like this one."

Harry tore his eyes away from the lake and looked at her. "Yes, I think it's lovely here. I can see why you like it." Her eyes lit up at his words, and he couldn't help smiling again. "You know, it reminds me a little of a lake from back home," he added, quietly. He wasn't sure why he felt that way. It wasn't big enough to be the lake at Hogwarts, and there were no landmarks around it that he recognised – but there was definitely something familiar about it, almost hauntingly so.

"Oh?" Rowena sounded curious, and perhaps a little surprised. "Was it very like this one? Did you go there often and sit by the water?"

"Not really – well, I don't know. It had the same... _peace_ , I suppose." Harry was happy to see Rowena give a small nod, a satisfied looking smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I didn't really go there _often_ , but I liked to when I needed to think."

"Ah, well, usually I bring books here to study, during summer days when the weather is fine. If the sun shines outside, I find my father's library to be too oppressive and confining." She sighed softly, and then fixed him with a curious stare. "I wonder – did you have many problems to ponder, when you sat by your lake to think?" Harry was startled by the question, and it must have showed, because Rowena laughed and said, "Come, Salazar, you cannot think me simple, surely? No man who is entirely happy with his life would leave it behind altogether to help a person he has never met."

"I... that's a good point." It made Harry wonder anew about the motivations of the late Salazar Slytherin, though he probably knew even less about them than Rowena did. After all, she had almost certainly read those letters more than once, and he'd only skimmed them briefly for clues. The only person whose feelings he understood were his own – but maybe he could talk about them anyway. As long as he wasn't specific about the _facts_ , there could be no harm in it. "It wasn't really – I just felt like I didn't really _fit in_ where I was, sometimes, that's all." Like when everyone had suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin – and wasn't _that_ ironic, now? He wanted to laugh.

"I can see why you might feel that way," Rowena said, slowly, her eyes thoughtful. "You are not like most people, are you?"

This was not unfamiliar to Harry; he was used to people looking at him and treating him as though he were different or exceptional. Whether it was gawking at the Boy Who Lived, or whispering and edging around the potentially dangerous lunatic, he couldn't escape it. This time it felt different, though; Rowena wasn't interested in something he didn't remember doing, or talents he couldn't help having. If _she_ thought he was special, it was because... but here, Harry's thoughts slammed into a brick wall of realisation. She wasn't thinking of _him_ at all; she didn't even know him. The look, the words – they weren't for him, but for a different boy. The one she'd exchanged letters with for three months. Not Harry – _Salazar_. The real one. He sighed.

"I don't know. People seem to think that – they have for as long as I can remember – but really, I'm quite ordinary." It was something he'd always wanted to say, something he'd always wanted to be true, but there had never been any point in saying it before. Everyone knew that Harry Potter wasn't ordinary, whether they thought he was a freak or a hooligan or a hero.

"I find that very hard to believe," Rowena said, in a voice that sounded rather amused. Harry knew that she meant it to be a compliment, but even so he had a hard time taking it that way. It wasn't _funny_ ; he'd never asked to be special, or to have any of these things happen to him. But he also knew he couldn't explain his irritation without giving away things that he needed to keep secret, so he swallowed his feelings down and just shrugged. Perhaps Rowena sensed that she'd made a mistake, because she said, "I don't think anyone entirely ordinary would have come here to help me."

That was true enough; most people would probably have considered her school plan too insane to be worth their time. But then, Salazar Slytherin had been known for his _ambition_ , and according to Dumbledore he had admired it in others as well – and what could be more ambitious than a plan to build the country's first real school? Whereas Harry, on the other hand... "It just seemed like the right thing to do. I felt that this, well, it _needed_ to be done." This, of course, was true in more ways than just the one Rowena would understand.

"I hadn't thought you an idealist," Rowena said, but she sounded more amused than suspicious.

"Caring about the future doesn't make me an idealist." Harry wasn't entirely sure what that word meant, but to his ears it definitely sounded like the sort of thing Snape would sneer at. He didn't think that it would be considered a Slytherin quality, not at all. Maybe he was too much of a Gryffindor at heart, whatever Sorting Hats or ancient magical swords might think on the matter. He wondered what Rowena was thinking – if she thought that he was childish or naive… or if, just maybe, this was a pleasant surprise for her. "I don't think that just because it's the right thing to do that it'll be easy, or anything like that, you know."

Rowena laughed. "I suppose even if you had thought that, your journey would have disabused you of the notion. It does not sound as though _that_ were at all easy."

"It wasn't." Harry thought both of how he'd got there – his inexplicable jaunt through hundreds of years of time – and of the bloody end to the real Salazar's journey north. Neither of those had been anything like easy. A shiver passed through him, though he didn't feel cold. He'd seen memories before, but something about those images in particular had shaken him terribly. The events the sword had shown him felt almost like something that had happened to _him_ personally, even though he knew that wasn't true. "Sorry," he said, realising that Rowena was looking at him with a slightly worried expression. "I just... don't like to talk about it."

"I understand." She gave him a small, rather sad smile. "I had intended to sketch a little, in any case. Perhaps you would prefer to explore for a time, while I occupy myself with that." She sat down and drew parchment and charcoal out of the bag slung across her body, quickly turning her attention to the work and studiously ignoring Harry. He wondered if he'd managed to offend her, though really she seemed more embarrassed than anything else.

Shaking his head, he moved away from her and drew closer to the stony beach by the lake, intent on finding out what Malfoy was up to. It was a strange thought, that he might actually _care_ what the other boy was doing. Perhaps Hell had frozen over, or the world had stopped spinning, but the fact remained that he'd spent more time talking to Malfoy since that afternoon by the lake than he had in the previous two years. And – wait, that day, had it really been only yesterday? It seemed like weeks had passed, but he realised to his shock that it had been less than twenty-four hours. Maybe there was hope for Malfoy yet, if they were almost friendly after so short a time. Maybe after a few more months, he might resemble a decent human being rather than, well, a _Slytherin_.

Though come to think of it, wasn't Harry only insulting _himself_ now, with thoughts like that?

For all that he'd convinced Malfoy to play along, he still found it incredible that he was here at all, let alone that he was posing as Salazar Slytherin himself. It was too incredible for words, and the only reason he kept going with the charade was the definite, though inexplicable, feeling that the sword had come to him for a reason. The words of the Sorting Hat, as spoken to him nearly two years ago, drifted into his mind: _Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness_. At the time, the meaning had seemed obvious, but now he wondered – was _this_ what those words had meant?

After all, the sword – Slytherin's sword – had come to him out of the Hat. And the sword was helping him, though he wasn't sure quite how. All he did know was that, on his own, he'd never have overpowered Rowena in the forest, or thought to order the snake to attack her. But while doing those things had definitely helped to convince her that he really _was_ Salazar Slytherin, he was still unnerved by the idea that those thoughts and actions had not been truly his own. He couldn't quite shake the idea that the sword might be influencing him in some sinister way.

It would make sense, wouldn't it? Salazar Slytherin had been a Dark wizard, just as Voldemort was or had been. Surely it wasn't all that far-fetched to think that both of them might have used similar methods to preserve their memories, even to possess and control other people? The only thing that reassured him was what Malfoy had said; if the sword did want to possess someone, why would it call _him_ specifically so strongly? Any wizard would be good enough. Unless... unless Malfoy had _lied_ about what he'd felt from the sword, just to mislead Harry into thinking that everything was okay. That seemed like the sort of thing he'd do; he was evil, wasn't he?

Harry caught sight of Malfoy just then, and was annoyed to note that he was conspicuously failing to look evil at all. Rather than obligingly hexing small animals or setting fire to the nearby plant life, he appeared to be scouring the beach for something. Just as Harry was beginning to wonder what on earth he could be up to, Malfoy suddenly bent down and picked up a shiny flat stone, which he then skimmed across the glassy surface of the water with a practised throw. Harry felt a sudden tightness in his throat, and tears prickled at the corners of his eyes; he'd watched Ron do that exact same thing before. And now... Ron was beyond his reach – _forever_ – and Malfoy was a terrible substitute even if he _did_ have some of the same habits.

By sheer force of will, he blinked the tears away before he could let them fall. Regardless of whether Malfoy was still an enemy, Harry did _not_ want the other boy to see him cry. And the tears wouldn't do him any good, anyway; they couldn't bring anyone he'd left behind back to him, so what was the point? The only thing he could do now was try to keep going, and figure out what to do along the way. Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the beach and felt the stones crunch under his feet. The noise drew Malfoy's attention, and the blonde boy turned to see what had made it – and incredibly, when he saw Harry, he smiled almost as if he was _pleased_ to see him.

"I thought you were going to stick to Rowena like glue." Malfoy snickered, before picking up another stone from the beach and inspecting it carefully. "I mean, we're here to have _fun_ , after all..." His smile had a devious edge to it.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fun? I thought that was too _undignified_ for you." Malfoy scowled at him but didn't say anything at all – instead, he skimmed the stone he'd just picked up, and Harry watched it as it bounced. Malfoy was pretty good; the stone made it a fair way across the water before disappearing for good beneath the surface. He wasn't as good at it as Ron was, but... Harry dismissed that line of thought before it could take hold; like looking into the Mirror of Erised, thinking like that would only drive him mad if he kept it up too long.

Once the stone was lost to sight, Malfoy turned back towards Harry and said, "No one's watching – except you, and you don't count – so I can be as undignified as I like."

"I don't count?" Harry wasn't sure if he ought to be offended. Not that it mattered at all what _Malfoy_ thought or felt about him, obviously.

"Well, no, of course not." Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't know what dignity was if it bit you on the nose, so what's the point in trying to act dignified in front of you?"

Harry resisted the urge to make a retort about how he did _so_ know what dignity was – and shrugged, saying, "I don't know, is there ever a point in trying to act dignified? Seems like a stupid thing to worry about to me."

"Yeah, well, not all of us can have _important_ things to worry about, can we?" Malfoy sounded annoyed, maybe even jealous, neither of which made any sense to Harry.

"Important things?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I – well, I guess people do keep trying to _kill_ me. Is that what you mean? Because, really, I'd _love_ to have just normal kid stuff to worry about, trust me. My life isn't anything you should be _jealous_ of." Harry looked out over the lake and sighed. "Well, the life I had. God knows if I'll ever get that back – and if it weren't for my friends, I wouldn't even _want_ it."

Malfoy stared at him. "You… wouldn't?"

"Why would I?" It would be wiser to be careful what he said to Malfoy, he knew that – but by this point, Harry was way beyond caring about that anymore. "I just… I really don't understand why anyone would want to be a _celebrity_ , as Snape likes to put it. It's not… my life was never a picnic, whatever you might have thought, Malfoy."

"I… well, yeah, I suppose I can believe that," the blonde boy said, slowly. "It's just… I don't know; I was surprised that you'd feel the same way as I do. I mean, I'd been thinking… you know, I _will_ miss people, and I still think I'd go back if I could – but being dragged here isn't the worst thing that could've happened to me. Even though I'm scared, even though I don't see how we're going to manage this, it might still wind up being better than the life I'd have had otherwise. I mean, I was always afraid that nothing I did would ever matter to anybody, and now…" Malfoy paused, apparently thinking about this, and then grimaced. "Too bad I can't put my own name on it, really, isn't it?"

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Is _that_ why you hate it when people call you Godric?"

"Not really – well, it isn't _just_ that," Malfoy protested. "Godric really is an _awful_ name."

"Says the boy called _Draco_? Honestly, who calls a child Draco?" Harry couldn't help giggling even harder at the expression on the other boy's face.

Malfoy sniffed disdainfully. "You really are a complete Muggle," he said, in an almost ridiculously haughty voice. "It's a tradition in my mother's family – a very ancient and noble line, the Blacks – to name children after stars and constellations. And if you paid attention in Astronomy classes…"

"Yeah, I know, _Draco_ is a small and insignificant constellation. So I guess it's kind of fitting really." Harry grinned broadly at Malfoy.

" _Insignificant?"_ For a moment, the blonde boy looked positively livid, but then he shook his head and calmed down enough to say, "I don't have to take this sort of thing from someone with a name like _Harry_. I mean, that's practically a _house elf_ name – so, if you want to talk about insignificance…"

"Which of us is the celebrity, again? I may hate the fact, but that doesn't make it less true." It occurred to Harry that there were probably house elves that were treated better by their families than he had been by his. Talk about having an appropriate name. He didn't say anything of this to Malfoy. Even if they were – well, _not-enemies_ – now, he wasn't comfortable talking about it. He'd never even told his friends everything, though after the twins' rescue at the beginning of the year, they probably had a good idea what it had been like for him.

Malfoy only snorted. "It's actually pretty funny that the most famous person in the whole country would be someone with such a… well, such a _common_ name as Harry Potter. I mean, doesn't _Draco Malfoy_ have a much more impressive ring about it?"

"Impressively stupid, maybe," Harry said, but this time Malfoy didn't rise to the bait; instead, he rolled his eyes in a rather exasperated fashion and went back to looking for stones. Harry watched him for about a minute, then asked, "So, you going to keep doing that, or do you want to walk around the lake a bit?"

"I wouldn't mind exploring for a while," Malfoy said, abandoning the search and casting an eye over their surroundings. "You know, I almost feel like I've been here before. Or… _after_ , really, what with the time travel thing." He pinched the bridge of his nose as if his thoughts were giving him a headache.

Harry shot a curious look at Malfoy. "So you feel like that, too? I… this place reminds me of the lake at Hogwarts, even though I know it looks nothing like it."

"A thousand years is a long time. More than long enough for a lot of things to change." Malfoy squinted at the far shoreline. "Maybe I _am_ thinking of that lake, but I'm not sure. I just had a feeling of having been here before, not anything definite." He stood for a moment, apparently lost in thought, before pulling himself together and saying, "Okay, let's go look around for a bit."

"Right." Harry looked around and then headed across the beach towards a rough path that disappeared into the long grass along the bank. Malfoy followed him, staying a few paces behind – which was probably just as well, since the path was narrow and hemmed in by bushes and small trees. On this side of the lake, the trees came almost up to the water line, which made Harry wonder if it was possible for this to be the eventual site of Hogwarts. If he'd thought about it, he would probably have expected the Forbidden Forest to be _smaller_ all these years ago, not larger.

He mentioned this to Malfoy, who snorted and said, "Didn't you know that most of England and Scotland were covered in forests a thousand years ago? Or… well, what I mean is that they are _now_. People will cut most of them down to have space to live in. And build castles, that sort of thing." Malfoy looked around again, his brow furrowed. "I don't know why you're convinced that this is the place, though; nothing looks right, and it doesn't feel cold enough. I'm not sure we're far enough north, but then I don't know exactly where Hogwarts was – or will be. But, well, geography isn't my strong point."

"What is?" Harry returned, neatly, but Malfoy just sneered at him. "I'm not _convinced_ , anyway. It's just a feeling – a really strange feeling, a bit like the one I get from the sword." He sighed. "I'm not used to this sort of thing either. Usually I don't notice anything. _Oblivious_ , Hermione calls it."

"Maybe it's the Slytherin influence making you less hopeless." There was very little bite in Malfoy's tone, despite the words. "Seriously, we travelled a thousand years into the past. You having some sort of bizarre sensitivity to lakes and swords is hardly the strangest part of what's happened to us, is it?"

Harry grinned impishly. "Nah, that'd be us talking without being at each other's throats, right?"

"Hah. Maybe." Malfoy smiled, the warmest expression Harry had ever seen on his face - and he was momentarily at a loss to explain why he'd ever hated the other boy at all. _Because he was a terrible person when he wasn't depending on you for survival_ , an inner voice reminded him. And yet… all of that seemed so very long ago and far away.

They walked for another few minutes in silence, picking their way along the little path and ducking under branches at head height. Eventually it snaked back round towards the edge of the lake, where a large rock ledge jutted out over the water. Malfoy stepped out onto it without hesitation, but Harry paused, looking down nervously. Before the other boy could notice and tease him, he steeled himself and followed, walking all the way to the end of the rock. It was almost like a diving board, though not as high. He couldn't see the bottom of the water.

"Good view from here," Malfoy observed. He looked down. "The water almost looks _clean_ , you know; maybe we could go for a swim later."

"Hm, maybe." Harry didn't say any of the things he wanted to say. "Or maybe we could get eaten by the giant squid, if it's here yet."

"I doubt it," Malfoy said. "But you reminded me; I think there's supposed to be a colony of kelpies somewhere in Scotland, and we wouldn't want to disturb one of _those_. We should ask Rowena if the water is safe before going in there." He thought for a moment and then scowled. "Of course, if I were really a Gryffindor I'd just jump in and ask questions later. If I didn't get eaten by something."

"You're confusing 'brave' with 'stupid'." Harry tried not to take offence. It wasn't Malfoy's fault he wasn't very good at telling jokes.

"Yeah, we do that. We'll stop when you guys stop confusing 'cunning' with 'evil'."

"Wait, that's not the same at all!" Harry protested.

Malfoy's smile was a little lopsided now. "Never is, when it's you, right?"

Anger broke through Harry's attempt at restraint; the memory of wrongs done by Slytherins were just _too much_ for him to allow the comparison. _There's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin_. He'd known that almost as long as he'd known about magic. "It's really not the same!" he snapped. Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise; he evidently hadn't realised the conversation was so close to dangerous waters. "You guys really _do_ evil things! _Voldemort_ –" Malfoy flinched – "was a Slytherin, and so were all his followers, and your father's an evil bastard who gave a book to an _eleven year old girl_ that nearly _killed_ her! All because he wanted to bring back Voldemort!"

"Don't talk about my father like that." Malfoy's voice was dark and unpleasant, ringing with an unspoken threat – but Harry didn't care about that at all.

"Or what? Your father's nothing but a follower of Voldemort – he's a liar and he's _cruel._ " The other boy, looking incensed, stepped towards him. Harry felt uneasy, but not enough to stop. "And the rest of you Slytherins are all the same; you _are_ all evil. It's true, I said it, and what are you going to do about it, Malfoy?"

Malfoy shoved him in the chest so hard that he fell backwards into the lake.

The water was so cold that it shocked all of the air out of Harry's lungs. He panicked, thrashing desperately, trying to get his head above the surface before he had to take a breath. The robes he wore were heavy and tried to drag him down, but he managed to fight his way clear of the water and take a deep gulp of air before going under again. He needed to _get out_ somehow, but it was impossible. He was too hopelessly tangled in his clothes to swim, and the weight of the sword in his belt pulled him deeper. There was water in his nose, his lungs burned from lack of air – and the icy cold was already freezing him to the bone, making his limbs too numb to obey him. Harry kept fighting, though; after all that he'd survived, he was _not_ drowning in a lake, not if he could help it.

And then he felt something – someone – touch him, trying to lift his head above the water, and nearly being dragged under instead. "For the love of God, Potter, stop _flailing_ like that!" It was Malfoy's voice, unusually high and sounding rather scared. One of Harry's deadened arms hit the something in the water, and the voice cursed. "Damn it, I _said_ keep still!" After that, he tried not to move at all, letting Malfoy – his inexplicable rescuer – drag him towards the shore and up onto a mud bank, not far away from the big rock. He coughed up a little water, and realised both that his throat felt very raw and that Malfoy was staring at him as though he were an exotic creature. "Can't you _swim_ , Potter?"

Harry would have felt embarrassed, but what with the rage, terror and relief already in his body there wasn't any room for another emotion. "Oh, right, of course – the Muggles who didn't even teach me the truth about myself took me to regular swimming lessons." He snapped the words out, defensively; never mind that Malfoy had helped him, the whole situation had been the other boy's fault in the first place. "Look, don't act like you didn't just try to _kill_ me, you..."

"Kill you?" Malfoy scowled. "Believe me, if I'd wanted to kill you I could just have let you _drown_ – I didn't _have_ to jump into the stupidly cold lake to save you." He looked almost as though he regretted having done that.

"You'd just been saying that it could be dangerous in there." Harry glared at the other boy.

Malfoy had the good grace to look a little wretched about it. "Yeah, I know," he said, with a sigh. Then, as though afraid of admitting guilt in anything, he hurriedly added: "But I didn't _mean_ to do it! I just lost my temper! _And_ I went in to help you as soon as I realised you were in trouble!"

"I wouldn't have _been_ in trouble at all if not for you!"

"Yeah." Malfoy sighed heavily, and then said three words that Harry had somehow not expected to hear. "I'm really sorry."

At that, Harry felt his anger bleed away as quickly as it had flared up, and he tried to smile at Malfoy, who stood shivering in his wet tunic. "It's alright," he said, a little stiffly. "You did make up for it." Then, in a more natural tone of voice: "Maybe the Gryffindor influence is making you _heroic_ – what do you think?"

"I think that maybe I should push you in the lake again." Malfoy kept a straight face, but there was an amused look in his eyes.

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

Rowena seemed rather bemused when Harry and Malfoy returned from their explorations with wet hair and damp dishevelled clothes. "I see you have been swimming. In your robes." She frowned, but didn't ask any awkward questions. "Do you not know any drying charms?"

Malfoy laughed. "I can't believe we _forgot_ to do that!" He drew his wand and muttered something, and suddenly they were barely damp at all, though Harry's hair insisted on staying in unruly curls.

"Clearly we were having too much fun to remember we could do magic," Harry said, drawing a snort from Malfoy. Then, looking down at Rowena, he asked: "Will we be heading back to the village for lunch?" He wondered if things would be awkward between them because of... whatever he had said earlier that had made her abruptly close herself off – but her smile didn't look forced and she wasn't trying to avoid him anymore.

"There is no need to go anywhere." Rowena reached into her bag and drew out a cloth-wrapped parcel and a large wooden bottle. "I made sure to bring a scratch lunch; it seemed better than having to return home so soon." The words surprised Harry; he knew _he_ didn't enjoy being at home – if 'home' was even the right word for the Dursleys' house – but Rowena could hardly have the same reason for not wanting to stay in Raven's Claw. Could she? She interrupted his train of thought by waving the bottle at him and asking, "Would you care for some pumpkin juice?"

Harry sat down on the ground next to her and picked up one of the cups, glad to find something as familiar as pumpkin juice in the strange world of the past. It was strange to think that wizards had been making and drinking it for hundreds of years. Harry hadn't realised quite how hungry he was until he'd seen the food; nearly drowning was a great way to work up an appetite. He and Malfoy both tore into the meal – apparently the other boy only bothered with table manners when sitting at an actual table – while Rowena watched, nibbling delicately on fresh bread and smiling to herself.

Once they'd finished eating and cleared away everything but the crumbs in Malfoy's hair, Rowena showed Harry the charcoal sketches she'd been doing while the two boys had been trying to drown each other. They were surprisingly good; he hadn't realised that anyone could make anything worth looking at using only charcoal on parchment. Even though he would have told her that he liked them whether he did or not, he could tell that she really was talented. He had recognised the lake instantly, and she even seemed to have captured some of the peace and stillness of the place – though how she'd managed that, he had no idea.

Suddenly, that peace was shattered by the thunder of an approaching horse's hooves on the hard ground. All three of them made some defensive move: Malfoy slid his wand out of his pocket, Harry drew his sword, and Rowena's hand strayed towards the handle of her long knife. When the horse and rider appeared, though, she visibly relaxed and said, "It is only Helga; you can put up your weapons." And so saying, she smiled broadly and ran over to meet the newcomer, who sat astride what Uncle Vernon would've called a 'gypsy horse' – black and white with a thick shaggy mane and tail.

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a look. "Ready to meet Hufflepuff?" Harry felt a little nervous, himself.

"I guess we'd better be." Malfoy's eyes rested on the horse for a moment, and he sniffed. "She's clearly not of any good family, or she'd have a properly bred mount."

Once again stifling the urge to punch Malfoy, Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the other boy's sleeve, pulling him in the direction of the two girls. Hufflepuff had dismounted – she held the reins in one hand and was gesturing wildly with the other while speaking very quickly to Rowena. Harry couldn't understand a word she was saying, even as they drew closer, and from the look on her face he didn't think that Rowena was getting all of it either. When Helga caught sight of Harry and Malfoy, the flow of words stopped as she looked them both over with a sharp eye. Whatever he might have thought of Hufflepuff house in his own time, Harry realised then that the founder wasn't a fool.

"So, Rowena, these are the young men you told me about?" Her voice had a slight lilting accent that Harry couldn't quite place.

Rowena smiled. "Yes; this is Salazar and Godric." She pointed to them both in turn. "And this is my dear friend Helga, who has many talents that I expect will be useful for the school."

"I'm sure she'll be a great help," Harry said, politely - though he did wonder what her talents might be, and what she would want to teach.

"Is this your bold swordsman, Rowena?" Helga asked, sounding amused. "I think I will like him."

Harry wasn't really sure what to say to that, but Malfoy sighed and said, "How is it that _you_ get all the girls, anyway, Sal?"

"I don't..." Really, Harry felt slightly uncomfortable with this sort of conversation. He didn't think he even _wanted_ to "get" either of the girls, and it surprised him that Malfoy cared enough to mention it. But still, an opportunity to take a dig at the other boy wasn't something he could really pass up. "I suppose it might be because I don't look at girls as things to get?"

Helga laughed – loud, clear and full of life. "Oh, yes, I definitely like this one," she announced. "Can I keep him?" Blue eyes gleamed at Harry, who really hoped he wasn't blushing.

Rowena shrugged. "Certainly, if you have a free stable to house him." There was a certain tightness in her voice, Harry thought, though he wasn't sure why. He looked at Helga, with her cheerful, innocent face and her reddish blonde curls – and those eyes that seemed to see everything. Was her arrival really going to help them? Or would it make everything much more complicated?


	7. Textbook Humour

"No, see – your wrist movement is all wrong."

Harry didn't want to think about how ridiculous his situation was – but it was incredibly difficult _not_ to just then, as he was tutoring _Rowena Ravenclaw_ in spells from a second year Charms class. It was as surreal as if Hermione had turned up to a class not knowing every single answer. Rowena was – or would be – famed for her intelligence and wisdom; how could he know _anything_ that she didn't? And yet here they were, with her dark eyes fixed on him, shining the same way they did when she opened a new book for the first time. He took a deep breath – somehow it seemed rather warm just then – and demonstrated the wand movement again. "Just like _that_."

"Oh, I see now." Despite her reputation, Rowena wasn't ashamed to admit that she didn't know something, and she didn't seem to resent Harry's corrections. "It is rather peculiar, I have always thought, that wizards from different parts of the island should know such different spells." She prodded one of the flower petals scattered across the wooden surface with the tip of her wand, and sighed. "Would you mind repeating the incantation? I must confess, I was so focused on the movements of your wand that I did not concentrate on the words as I ought to have done."

Malfoy, who was writing out Latin verb declensions at a seat further down the same table, let out a hastily muffled giggle.

Harry didn't know what the other boy found so amusing, and he wasn't sure that he cared. He _did_ have a wicked idea for how to demonstrate the charm, though. "Of course, Rowena," he said, smiling at her. Pointing his wand in Malfoy's direction, he pronounced the words of the incantation very clearly and precisely. " _Tinctus_ _Mutare."_ As soon as he completed the distinctive wand movement, the quill in Malfoy's hand changed colour, becoming an extremely vivid shade of pink. Malfoy dropped it, startled, but Harry just carried on speaking as if nothing unusual had happened. "See? It's easy. The colour will change back to the natural one after a few minutes, if you use that spell. I think there's a more permanent version, but I don't know how to cast it."

"Damn it, Po– you pox-ridden excuse for a wizard, I was _using_ that." Malfoy glared at him, every bit as annoyed as Harry could have wished him to be.

"And? It's still usable, isn't it?" Harry felt a slight chill down his spine as he realised how close Malfoy had come to blurting out his _actual_ name – but, as it turned out, even when he was angry the other boy was smart enough to save the situation. "Okay, it's pink, but so what?"

Malfoy grimaced. "I can barely stand to look at it! It's bright enough to cause headaches."

"Oh, don't be a baby." Harry smirked at Malfoy, who scowled darkly back. "I was just demonstrating a spell for Rowena."

"Dye your _own_ quills in eye-bleeding colours, why can't you?" Malfoy grumbled. Then his face changed abruptly and he smirked. "Or, well, I suppose you're not the only one who can demonstrate spells, right?" He picked up his wand and pointed it towards a scroll of handwritten notes, frowning with concentration. Before Harry's eyes, the parchment slowly transformed itself into a small stack of pale purple tissue paper.

"You... what?" Harry took a closer look at the paper and laughed. "Wait, you made _scented_ tissue paper? In a _pastel_ colour?"

Malfoy sniffed. "You turned my quill pink."

"Very impressive." Rowena smiled at Malfoy. Harry wanted to hit him.

"Impressive? It's just a paper to paper transfiguration, not particularly complicated or anything." Harry was aware that he was probably being childish, but he wasn't sure that he cared.

"Oh, yeah? Because _colour changing_ charms are totally complicated, right?" Well, at least if he _was_ immature, Malfoy was equally so.

"Maybe next time I'll turn your _hair_ pink, you inbred idiot!"

"Only if you want your _nose_ transfigured into a parrot's beak!"

It was at this point that Helga swept into the room. Her hair was tangled and windswept, and she was wearing her riding costume; evidently she had been out exercising her gypsy horse while the rest of them were writing teaching notes and practising spells. She took one look at Harry and Malfoy, who were glaring angrily at each other, and said, "Oh, dear, are they fighting again? Like wet cats in a sack, are they not?" And she grinned at Rowena in a way that made Harry suddenly feel very foolish indeed.

"Quite." Rowena looked as if she wasn't sure if she should be amused or annoyed. "They're supposed to be _friends_ , as I understand it, and yet they act like this."

" _Wizards_." That was Helga's only response.

Rowena laughed. "And our fathers wonder why we are not yet married."

"Truly, we are spoiled for choice." There was a wicked glint in Helga's eye. Harry felt small and rather stupid. What had he been _thinking_ , to get caught up in arguing with Malfoy when he should have been focusing on the task at hand? Wasn't he better than this?

"In seriousness, Helga, I _am_ worried." Rowena was frowning now. "While they do know a lot of magic, and they have a better grasp of written language than most people I have met, are they going to be capable of _teaching_ anything?" She cast a doubtful eye over them, and Harry wanted to disappear through the floor. Rowena was disappointed. They'd ruined everything.

"I'd wondered that myself," Malfoy said, in a strangely cheerful voice. "Well, I was more worried that any students we had wouldn't respect us – because we're so young, honestly. How would I hold the attention of a class?"

Harry could see that both of the girls looked confused by what Malfoy was saying – probably because he was assuming that "school" meant the same thing to a pair of tenth century witches as it had done to the students at twentieth century Hogwarts. There probably wouldn't even be that many people to teach, and those that did come – "They'll want to learn, Godric. Especially if you give them a practical demonstration of turning your annoying friend's nose into a bird's beak." He smiled slightly and tried not to dwell too much on the fact that he'd just referred to himself as Malfoy's friend.

The corner of Rowena's mouth curled up slightly. "I do not believe you will have much to worry about on that score, at least." She gestured at the quill he had dropped – which was still pink – and said, "You are literate, and you know spells that most people from this part of the island will never have seen before. That will guarantee you respect – or it will, as long as you do not immediately _lose_ their respect by the way you and Salazar comport yourselves!" Suddenly Rowena, for all her youth and prettiness, resembled no one more than Professor McGonagall, and Harry felt almost as ashamed as he had after flying Mr. Weasley's car into the Whomping Willow.

"I'm sorry, Rowena," he said, and he meant it, as well – whether Malfoy did or not. "I suppose Godric and I bring out the worst in each other." He sighed. How had he ever imagined that he and Malfoy, who had hated each other since practically the day they'd met, could ever work together like this?

Helga threw herself down on the bench next to Harry and ruffled his hair, smiling broadly when that made him grimace and try to flatten it back down. "Oh, I don't know," she said, brightly. "I would imagine that continually trying to find new spells to use against one another might be helpful, in a way. Or, well, you would end up knowing a fair amount of spells you might not have thought to learn otherwise." Her enthusiasm for the subject was obvious. "You could even teach a class on it: Learning Through Practical Jokes."

Harry thought that this sounded far more like a lesson that the Weasley twins could teach, rather than something for him and Malfoy. After all, it was Fred and George who invented joke sweets and played pranks on people; he and Malfoy just fought, and in the blonde Slytherin's case, fought dirty. That was the problem - his feud with Malfoy was anything but a joke. Annoying as the twins' inventions and pranks could be, there wasn't any _meanness_ in them - which wasn't true at all of his companion. The twins were jokers; Malfoy was a bully. _You started it that time, though,_ Harry's traitorous conscience reminded him. _And he hasn't really been that awful these past couple of days._

He sighed and shook his head. "I don't think Rowena would let us teach lessons like that," he said, smiling slightly.

"Using me as an excuse, Salazar?" Rowena's voice sounded deceptively sweet, but Harry wasn't fooled.

He shrugged. "Are you telling me you would?" Her only reply was a snort, and Harry's smile broadened. "See, I didn't think so." This line of conversation, silly as it was, reminded him that there was something he'd been meaning to ask. "Okay, so we've already decided that we're not teaching practical jokes," he said, shooting a mock-stern look at Helga. "But what exactly _are_ we going to teach? And who's going to do what?"

Rowena picked up the pink quill and tapped it on the table. "I rather think that most of the people who come to us for instruction in magic will first have to be taught to read." She looked steadily at Harry. "You will agree that before we can teach the finer points of magic, we will have to ensure that our students can understand their books and know how to hold a quill."

"Right." It made sense to him when Rowena put it that way, but he still found it strange that so many people couldn't read here - he'd known how by the time he was four. "So, reading, writing and Latin verbs." He nodded towards Malfoy and his incomprehensible scrawled notes. "All that stuff first, sure, but once the students are ready for lessons, what then? Do we take it in turns to teach everything we know?" He felt that it was a fair question; this whole thing had been Rowena's idea, and she must have had _some_ sort of plan for how it would work.

"We should probably discuss our strengths and weaknesses in magic, and then draw up notes on what we each think a student should know before they leave us." Now Rowena was back to reminding him of Hermione; this was practically an exam revision guide. "I could easily teach runic languages, astronomy and non-magical duelling - though perhaps you would prefer to deal with that last, Swordsman Salazar." She smirked at him and gave a little bow. "In addition, perhaps some basic arithmancy, though I am unsure how useful such an obscure academic study would be for the students' future."

Malfoy muttered, "I'm sure Sal could teach a class on how to kill a bloody enormous snake in the most idiotic way possible."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Remind me again how many dangerous mythical creatures you've ever defeated, _Ricky?"_

"Never call me that again." Malfoy shuddered. "It sounds so... common."

"If you say so, my dear upper class twit."

Whatever Malfoy might have been about to say in reply was cut off rather dramatically by Rowena drawing her wand and firing off a loud noise like a gunshot. "That will be quite enough," she said, in a calm and quiet yet somehow slightly menacing voice. Harry and Malfoy looked at each other uneasily.

Helga seemed entirely unaffected by Rowena's mood, and ignored Harry and Malfoy's spat altogether. "I think that it might be best to start with a useful practical education. I have some skill at brewing potions, as well as in healing and household magic." Harry was surprised to hear that the friendly and cheerful girl was good at Potions; apparently it wasn't endless brewing that had given Snape his bad temper. Then Helga grinned, and Harry wondered if perhaps he'd been too hasty in calling her less evil than Snape. "In truth, I can hardly wait to teach domestic spells. I'm sure that the reactions will be extremely amusing to watch."

"Are you anticipating wealthy purebloods sneering at the idea of learning 'house elf work', or just wizards complaining that only witches should have to learn it?" Rowena raised an eyebrow at Helga and gave a rather wicked-looking smirk. Harry noticed that Malfoy looked almost ashamed of himself; one or both of those thoughts had probably crossed his mind.

"Oh, either of those," Helga said, breezily. "More likely both. It will be rather fun – or, at least, it will be the first few times. You know how little patience I have with stupidity, Rowena."

"Indeed." The other girl nodded.

"But I was told..." Malfoy started to say something but then tailed off as though he'd thought better of it. Harry could guess what it would've been; he remembered only too well the other boy's terrible opinion of Hufflepuff. Not that other people had ever seemed to think much better of them. They were the duffers, the "spares", the ones who just didn't fit anywhere else – or whom no other House really wanted – and generally thought of as useless and stupid. The idea that Helga Hufflepuff might be _impatient_ , that she might not be as accepting and understanding of the not especially bright, frankly boggled Harry.

Both girls were staring at Malfoy, who was trying to find something to say that wouldn't draw either their suspicion or their ire. "Um, I mean, I'd got the idea that you were _nice_ ," he spluttered to an amused-looking Helga.

"Oh, I am." At least she didn't seem particularly offended – and Malfoy had never sounded so much like a Gryffindor in all the time Harry had known him. "I suppose that _stupidity_ is not quite the word. It's more that I despise wilful ignorance and lazy thinking, and dismissing useful magic because you feel that it is beneath you is both of those things."

"I suppose it is." Malfoy looked slightly stunned. "Though no one ever offered to teach me anything like that before. I mean, I know a couple of simple cleaning spells but – yeah, house elves always took care of most of that sort of thing. I was certainly never _expected_ to do anything."

_Lucky you_ , Harry thought, slightly annoyed by the reminder that Malfoy was just as much a spoilt brat as his awful cousin. "Yeah, I got that from the way I had to cook breakfast the Muggle way so we didn't starve," Harry snapped, thinking about how amazed Malfoy had been by his ability to do something as simple as fry eggs. He wondered if pureblood children were even taught how to tie their own shoes – or did house elves do _that_ for them too? Looking at Malfoy's rather affronted expression, he decided to be a little kinder to the boy; it wasn't _his_ fault he was rich and mostly useless. "I guess at least Godric knew a cleaning charm, else we'd have had to do _that_ by hand too."

"That is rather lucky." Helga smiled. "Though it does seem rather inadvisable to me not to teach young wizards the simple spells they need to take care of themselves." For the first time since he'd entered the magical world, Harry was beginning to realise that maybe his education at Hogwarts had been a little lacking in practical value. Turning a porcupine into a pincushion wasn't exactly going to stop anyone from going hungry.

Rowena said, "I think they do not expect young wizards ever to _need_ to take care of themselves." There was a certain harshness in her voice – and Harry, who had been expected to take care of other people for years, found himself rather resenting her attitude. What could he say, though? While he didn't want to tell Malfoy about his childhood, he simply _couldn't_ tell Rowena. Nothing that had happened to him would fit with Slytherin's – admittedly rather sparse – account of his younger years. The urge to defend himself was still there, though. He ignored it as best he could.

Then, to his surprise, _Malfoy_ jumped to his defence. "I don't think it's like that everywhere, even if it is here. I mean, Sal's aunt taught him to cook – and I think the only reason _I_ wasn't taught anything like that is because my family had a house elf to do everything." Harry snorted; the Malfoy family didn't have an elf anymore, not since Lucius, for all his schemes and supposed cleverness, had been outwitted by a twelve-year-old boy. Malfoy glared at him as though he knew what Harry was thinking about, and Harry quickly tried to look apologetic. Laughing at Malfoy's misfortune was hardly a good repayment for the other boy defending him.

"I am sorry that my father and I have only one elf in our service, else we would have offered one for your use while you are here." Rowena cast her eyes downwards for a moment, as if embarrassed – but then pinned Malfoy with a keen, uncomfortably speculative look and said, "I wonder that you did not bring any elves or servants with you, if you are unaccustomed to living without them."

Malfoy fidgeted a little under her gaze. "I am... not in very good standing with my family at the moment." He spoke with an air of reluctance, practically through clenched teeth. "I doubt they would have given me a house elf, even if I'd asked." Something about Malfoy's unhappy tone suggested to Harry that there was a certain amount of truth in what he was saying. Perhaps Lucius had taken out his frustrations – at his thwarted plan and the loss of his servant – on Draco. Harry felt surprisingly guilty at the thought.

"Oh, forgive me; I did not mean to pry into your family affairs," Rowena said, a little stiffly, but with what sounded like genuine regret. "I do hope that it is not on my account that you are out of favour with your relations, Godric?"

"It's not really _your_ fault." Malfoy gave a careless shrug. "I'd blame my dear friend here –" he nodded rather aggressively at Harry – "before I'd blame you. He got me into this whole thing in the first place."

Harry scowled. "You know you brought it on yourself." This was true, as far as he was concerned; if Malfoy hadn't come over and bothered him while he sat by the lake, none of this would ever have happened at all.

"Well, maybe if I'd known what I was getting myself into I would've chosen differently." Malfoy seemed to realise that his words might be considered rude; he grew flustered and stammered: "Uh... not – not that I'm _unhappy_ to be here, you know, but... it's just hard knowing that I parted from my family on bad terms. And I doubt they'd approve of what I'm doing with the Gryffindor name." Harry found Malfoy's ability to tell the honest truth in such a misleading way rather impressive.

"Try not to dwell on it too much," he said, as kindly as he could manage. "You're the one who'll be remembered for a thousand years or more." For some reason, Harry was relieved to see Malfoy smile in response.

"I see you are an optimist, Salazar." Helga seemed almost to be laughing at him – but then, she didn't know what Harry and Malfoy knew, and had no idea that the name Gryffindor really _would_ still be known far into the future.

Harry shrugged. "It's better than thinking that I'm wasting my time on some project that's never going to go anywhere." He heard someone snort at that, and looked over with a smile at Rowena. "I'm sure that as long as Godric and I can avoid killing each other, the school will be a great success."

"Then it shall certainly be a success," Rowena said, her eyes dancing. "Because I forbid you to kill Godric."

"It's like you don't _want_ me to have any fun." Harry pretended to complain, and got an elbow in the ribs from Malfoy and a smile from Rowena.

"You might have noticed that she didn't forbid _me_ to kill _you_ , Sal," Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Harry gave what he hoped was a nonchalant smile. "As if you _could_ kill me?" He wasn't sure if he was implying that Malfoy was incapable of causing his death, or just that the other boy wouldn't _want_ to – which, while it would have seemed like a stupid thing to think only a few days earlier, now seemed to be pretty close to the truth.

Malfoy laughed. "Well, since the Basilisk didn't manage it, I suppose it's probably better for me not to try." He winked at Rowena. "Don't worry too much about us, Lady Ravenclaw; we _do_ argue, but we're unlikely to come to actual blows or hexes."

"Apart from when you pushed me in the lake." Harry glowered at him, though he didn't really feel upset about that incident anymore.

"Oh, was that the reason behind your wet robes? I had wondered." Rowena seemed to find this revelation more funny than anything else. She paused for a moment and then, when no one else said anything, she spoke again. "Much as it pains me to do so, I feel I must bring our conversation back to practical matters. We have discussed what knowledge we might wish to impart to our students, but we would do better to discuss the matter of where we intend to hold these lessons."

"You know that my mother's uncle left me his hall in Strathclyde, Rowena," Helga said, with a somewhat confused expression. "I had thought that you and I were in agreement that such a place would be ideal for our purposes?"

Rowena smiled. "Yes, once we have built a reputation, and have enough students to fill so large a place - by all means we shall avail ourselves of your inheritance, Helga. Until then, I fear that so large and grand a hall may be too much for just the four of us to manage."

"Would your father mind if we began by teaching here?" Harry asked, thinking of the lake that had seemed so familiar, and his strange conviction that _here_ was where Hogwarts ought to be, somehow.

"In his dining hall? I think he would disapprove in the strongest language that his status as a nobleman would allow." Rowena's eyes still sparkled, so Harry supposed that she was not particularly put out by her father's reaction to her ambitions. He hadn't spent much time in conversation with Lord Edgar – he'd left small talk with the titled man to Malfoy, who seemed better able to deal with it – but he'd noticed that there was no real closeness between father and daughter. Probably, then, Rowena was too used to his disapproval for it to hurt her – and Harry certainly understood _that_.

All he said was: "Oh, no, I just meant here as in Raven's Claw."

Rowena flushed slightly. "I suppose I can be a touch too literal-minded, sometimes." Then she frowned in apparent thought. "Yes, I believe we could use an empty house for a time, or even one of the old barns as long as we ensured that it was safe enough for our use. Besides, it might well be better to practice our teaching techniques on the local children before advertising to a wider audience."

At this point, Malfoy looked up from poking his quill – which had changed back to its natural colour at some point during the conversation – and asked, "Is everyone here magical, or not?"

"Some are witches and wizards, others are not," Rowena said, slowly. "It does not seem to matter particularly to anyone here, though I know that in your country relations between magical folk and Muggles are a little more fraught."

Harry hadn't realised that there had ever been any time and place where the existence of magic had just been quietly accepted by non-magical people. He found it incredible just to think about – although from the look on Malfoy's face, he wasn't sure that the other boy thought it such a good thing. Intent on giving Malfoy even more of a shock, Harry said, "If we started with just reading and writing, we could teach anyone who wanted to learn, not just witches and wizards – couldn't we?"

Malfoy made a sort of choking sound, but didn't say anything. Helga smiled broadly, and said, "Why, that is not at all the sort of suggestion I would have expected to hear from you, Salazar."

Was it the reputation of Southern wizards, or had there been something in the letters that revealed Salazar Slytherin's reputed hatred for Muggles? Harry couldn't for the life of him remember everything that had been in those few handwritten pages. There was nothing he could do about it now. What had he said to Malfoy? He was going to be _himself_ , and let history take care of itself. "It bothers me that so many people can't read," he said, truthfully enough.

"I have long cherished the dream of universal literacy." Rowena was looking at him as though she was reassessing him yet again. "It gladdens my heart to think that you – I mean, that someone might share my ambitions."

There was a grin on Harry's face; he couldn't stop it, and he didn't really want to. "Well, yeah," he said. He was aware that what he was going to say would please Malfoy, but somehow that wasn't enough to make him _not_ say it. "I mean, who said ambition was always a bad thing?"

* * *

Harry was a little disturbed by how comfortable it already felt to go back to the little house he was sharing with Malfoy. This was only the third night, and it was already beginning to feel like home. _And why shouldn't it?_ Part of his mind demanded, indignantly. _It's not as if you remember any other home_. He scowled. It wasn't just the place, it was the company. Obviously he had to tolerate Malfoy – this probably foolish plan wouldn't work if he couldn't do that – but he wasn't finding it anywhere near as difficult as he'd imagined he would. There was a reason for that; he knew in his slowly sinking heart that he was already beginning to like the other boy.

God help him.

Malfoy sat on the floor by the fire pit, staring into the dancing flames. He didn't say anything for a long time, and Harry had just begun to wonder if he'd gone into a trance when the silence was split by an odd question. "How did you know I was good at Transfiguration?"

"Huh?" _Very eloquent,_ Harry's inner voice taunted him. He firmly told his inner voice to sod off.

"I told you about the Latin, so I know how you know that. But you told Rowena that I was good at Transfiguration – which I am, but I never told you that."

Harry laughed. "Oh, that's easy," he said. "Hermione was very put out to discover who had been getting the top marks in one of her favourite subjects while she'd been Petrified. It's just as well they cancelled the end-of-year tests; I wouldn't have liked to see her reaction if you'd outscored her." Suddenly he remembered that he would probably never see his friend again – and, swallowing heavily, he followed Malfoy's example by staring into the fire. At least that way he could claim the light was hurting his eyes.

Malfoy sighed. "Funny how none of that seems to matter anymore."

"Yeah." Harry still felt slightly overwhelmed by their abrupt change in circumstances. "We're going to be _teaching_ other people."

"Teaching _Muggle_ children how to _read_ , even." Malfoy's disdain was obvious from his voice. "I don't know if I can even explain how... awful that idea is to me, Harry. Salazar Slytherin, the Great Founder, suggesting that we teach Muggles. That's not what he was like! You must know that! I thought we were supposed to be playing our parts here! So what are you doing?"

"This is a thousand years in the past, Malfoy," Harry said, patiently. "We don't know anything about what the real Slytherin was like. And – like I said before – I think things will work themselves out. If I do have to grow to hate Muggles, then I suppose it will happen somehow, though I can't really think of a reason why it would. I mean, it could just be that some chance remark I make in twenty years time will be recorded out of context and see me forever coloured by history as a Muggle-hater. We can't really know, can we?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose not." He scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Doesn't it bother you, knowing what people thought of you – are going to think of you – in the time we came from?"

"No, not really." Harry thought about it. "It doesn't seem _real_ somehow. I guess it matters more to me that I'm alive and I've got something to do _now_. And anyway, it's not really much different to how people were thinking about me this last year, is it?"

"I suppose not." Malfoy let out a sudden sharp laugh. "Sorry, it just struck me that... this is the Founding of Hogwarts. _This!_ Four teenagers sitting in some border lord's dining hall, discussing how best to teach village children to read. I'd always imagined something grander."

"I think I did as well, when I read the books about it." That was the problem with history books, Harry thought. They dramatised everything so much. "But I'm kind of glad that it _isn't_ , you know?"

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, I think I get what you mean. _Grand_ was always my father's thing, not mine." There was a certain hardness in the boy's voice when he spoke about his father. After a moment of uneasy silence, he went on: "Besides, it is better this way. More exciting. I'm glad that Rowena and Helga are just... nice girls. Not terrifyingly brave and intelligent witches of angelic beauty that I wouldn't even know how to _talk_ to, let alone work with."

"They are nice girls." Harry smiled to himself, then nudged Malfoy gently. "I guess your biggest challenge is going to be working with _me_ , then?"

This drew a surprised laugh from the other boy. "You know what, Potter? I didn't think I'd ever say this, but – I don't think even that will be very hard."


End file.
